The Other Foot
by pgrabia
Summary: Wilson leaves town after House kicks him out of his apartment because Cuddy is coming over.  Episode response fic for Ep. 7x8 "Small Sacrifices".  SPOILERS up to ep. 7x8.  H/W pre-slash/slash.  Some H/Cu, mentions W/S. Coarse language, adult content.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ****The Other Foot**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Word Count:** 4728

**Pairings/Characters:** House/Wilson preslash-UST/possible slash; House/Cuddy, mention of Wilson/Sam.

**Category(ies):** Angst, Drama, Romance.

**Rating: NC-17/M**

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all episodes up to and including 7x8. Coarse language including F-bombs, drug and alcohol use and explicit sexuality. Reader discretion is strongly encouraged.

**A/N:** This is a post-episode response to the episode 7x8 "Small Sacrifices". It picks up immediately after the last scene.

**~H/W~**

**Chapter One**

Wilson looked at House and gave him a sad smile. "Good for you." He walked out of the apartment and made his way down the stairs to the exit. He felt numb. Never before had House kicked him out when he needed his friendship to get over a painful break-up. They usually sat around his apartment eating take-out, watching TV and getting shit-faced. It was therapy House-style and more than anything Wilson needed that now. Instead, for the first time, House had pushed him away to put Cuddy and her booty call first. At one time House would have dropped everything to comfort the oncologist but now…now things had changed. Now House only wanted Wilson to be his relationship guru to give him advice on how to keep his relationship Cuddy alive.

House had warned Wilson about Sam from the start, but he had been certain that they both had changed and that this time around they could make their relationship last. He'd allowed himself to cross that invisible line and fell in love with her again. He'd trusted her to be understanding and forgiving but she broke that trust. She gave up on them just like the first time around and had left him.

Only this time there would be no interesting stranger at a bar to bail him out of jail, take him drinking and be there for him to help mend his broken heart. House didn't need him anymore now that he had Cuddy—and Wilson had no one.

Wilson reached his car that was parked in front of House's apartment and climbed inside. He couldn't stand the idea of going back to the emptiness of the loft and sleeping in that huge bed all alone. He'd planned on getting drunk and spending the night on House's sofa just like old times, but those days were over. He stuck his key into the ignition and started his car. Just as he was about to pull away from the curb he saw Cuddy's car pull up behind him. It was dark and she wasn't paying attention and apparently didn't realize that Wilson was in the car ahead of her. He watched in his rearview mirror as she pulled out a tube of lipstick and applied a fresh coat to her lips, fixed a few stray hairs on her head and fixed the collar of her blouse. Smiling at herself in her mirror she then climbed out of her car and hurried up the walkway to House's building. The skirt she wore was too short and too tight for a woman her age. Her four inch heels and nude stockings made her look like one of House's hookers. The thought of Cuddy as a hospital administrator by day and slutty call-girl by night made Wilson smile wickedly.

It covered the frown he'd broken into upon seeing her arrive. She was going to be with House tonight, spreading her legs and moaning at the right times because House had caved to her again, yet hadn't; Wilson, who needed him in order to remain sane tonight, would be forgotten by the diagnostician as he fucked her over and over again. A gnawing, unnamed emotion felt like it was eating his heart and secretly Wilson hoped House couldn't get it up.

He put the car into gear and pulled into the light post-rush hour traffic. He didn't go home and he didn't want to go back to the hospital. That meant the bar. He drove around aimlessly until he found one that looked like a good place to drown his misery. It resembled an English pub and was fairly empty. He didn't want to socialize. He just wanted to get drunk.

Inside the pub Wilson pulled himself onto a stool at the bar. The bartender, a pretty girl with Strawberry blonde hair in her late twenties/early thirties approached him. He smiled at her because, well, just because she was hot and he was Wilson, after all. He gave her his credit card and his car keys and then wrote down his address just in case he was too sloshed later to tell the cabbie himself. He instructed _Raquel_ to bring him a short double scotch and soda and to just keep them coming. When she returned with the first glass she gave him a compassionate look.

"Let me guess," she said to him, "your wife had an affair."

"Nope," Wilson told her and then took a large gulp of his drink. He winced a little as the alcohol burned down his throat. "Try again."

She smiled and thought for a moment. "Your girlfriend kicked you to the curb with nothing but the clothes on your back and your platinum Visa card."

"Closer, but no," he played along. "One last try."

She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. "You cheated on your _boy_friend and _he_ left you."

Wilson looked at her incredulously. "No. Do I look gay to you?"

"What does gay look like?" Raquel asked him with a shrug. "You dress well, have a taste for the finer things and are cute as a dickens. There isn't a straight woman or gay man around who wouldn't find you attractive."

"Thank you," Wilson told her cautiously, "I think." He gulped down the remainder of his first drink and signaled that he wanted the next one. The bartender took the dirty glass away with her and in a few seconds returned with a fresh drink.

"Are you hitting on me?" he asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

She blushed a little. "I don't know. Are you available?"

"Very recently," Wilson said to her and lifted his glass in a salute before downing the entire thing. He set the glass down. A warm flush came over him and he was beginning to relax. However, he'd only just begun to drink. "Make the next one neat."

"Why don't I just bring you the bottle?" Raquel joked. She walked away to grab his next drink and take the order of another customer. She returned quickly. "Well, I'm not into rebound. I find it comes back to haunt me."

"Ah, clever," Wilson said with a smirk, sipping at his drink this time. "I asked my girlfriend to marry me. I told her why I loved her more than ever and she left me."

"Does she have a mental defect?" Raquel asked, absently polishing the surface of the bar with a cloth. "Or are you a psychopath behind closed doors?"

Chuckling wryly Wilson looked into his glass and then took another generous swallow of scotch. "That's me alright," he answered. "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—caring and compassionate oncologist by day, savage womanizing beast by night. Can't you tell?"

"Not really," she told him. "So you're a doctor?"

"Yup," Wilson responded and then raised a hand as if to ward her off, "but I'm in no shape to practice medicine just now."

Raquel snickered and shook her head, saying, "Don't worry. I'm not looking for free medical advice. Just curious. So how come you're sitting here all by your lonely drowning your sorrows? Don't you have a friend who has a shoulder you can cry on?"

Snorting bitterly Wilson finished the contents of his glass. "Apparently not anymore."

"Oh…friend troubles too, huh? Sorry to hear that."

"It my fault, really," Wilson acknowledged, slurring his words slightly. He could feel the alcohol smoothing out the edges quite nicely. He nodded to his glass. She grabbed the bottle and two more fingers worth for him.

"What'd you do?" she asked, tucking a stray strand of hair off of her face and behind her ear.

Shrugging his shoulders, Wilson waited while she collected payment from a couple of customers and doled out change. She cleaned up their table and then returned to the bar.

"So?" Raquel asked, picking up their conversation where they left off.

Surprising himself by remembering her question, the oncologist sighed and answered quietly, "That gay observation wasn't too far off of the mark. I always thought of myself as straight. I've always liked woman. I was practically a lothario at twelve." He earned a grin from her for that. Wilson continued. "At least, until a couple of years ago, that is. Then I found myself experiencing…feelings for House—my best friend of fifteen years at that point."

"'House'?" she echoed. "What were his parents' names, _Car_ and _Garage_?"

He laughed at that, not because it was all that funny but because he was feeling good from the alcohol and would have laughed at just about anything at that point.

"No," he explained, "that's his last name. He has this thing about going by last names. His given name is Greg. He's a doctor too—a genius and world-famous one, but he can be a son of a bitch most of the time. Anyway, I started seeing a beautiful woman and pushed those urges aside. It wasn't until I'd been dating her for a few weeks that it was pointed out to me that she had the same personality House did in many ways. I chose to ignore that, though. Then she was in an accident when picking a drunk House up from a bar to take him home. It should have been me. She died and House nearly died trying to save her for me. I kinda lost it for awhile. Lost it and ran away. I let him think it was because I blamed him for her death, and at first I guess I did, until I got to thinking about it more. I knew viscerally that I was in love with House—had been for a while—and I couldn't live with the guilt of asking him to undergo a risky procedure to save my girlfriend. I'd kinda pushed House aside in favor of her and to avoid those feelings for him." He paused to take a swallow of his drink.

"Out of sight, out of mind," she commented with a nod.

"Exactly," the oncologist acknowledged, swaying a little on his stool. "But he wouldn't let me go, so I eventually came back. I couldn't stop being his friend. I cared too much about him. Well, a lot happened between then and fall a year ago but for medical reasons he couldn't live alone so I agreed that he could move in with me. It was good having him around and seeing more of him, and he seemed to agree, but it made it impossible to avoid my feelings for him. The longer we lived together—platonically, mind you—the more I…I fell in love with him. Fuck. I don't want to be gay! Being gay really throws a wrench into everything I thought I knew to be true about myself. So, I went back to tried and true."

Raquel had been listening in fascination to this. She caught her cue. "So you found another girlfriend to be a distraction."

"Yup," Wilson confirmed. He finished his drink. "I had to. I just about told him how I felt which would have been a big mistake. He's straight and I'm afraid if he knew he'd want nothing more to do with me. I can't bear to lose him from my life again, so I'd rather settle for platonic friendship than telling him and being left without my best friend. So when my first ex-wife poked me on Facebook, I jumped at the opportunity to get together with her."

"You're first ex-wife?" Raquel reacted, raising a curious eyebrow. "How many ex-wives do you have?"

"Three," he admitted with a lopsided smile.

"And you thought you were completely straight?" the bartender asked him rhetorically and shook her head. "So you took up with her again?"

Nodding, Wilson paused in his story when she had to fix a drink for someone and take payment from another.

"Sorry about that," she apologized.

"No problem," Wilson told her, slurring a fair bit now. "Where was I?"

"You were telling me that you took up with your ex-wife to avoid admitting your feelings for your best friend," she reminded him.

"Oh yeah, well, I rushed things with her 'cause House was still living with me and I was very tempted by him. The son of a bitch is very sexy in spite of his rotten personality, which I happen to like. So I asked him to move out so I could move Sam in."

"Oh," Raquel said, recoiling slightly, "ouch!"

"Yeah, he didn't take it well," her customer told her. Wilson liked her; she was a good listener. "I pissed him off with that. Anyway, a few weeks later he took up with his current girlfriend and we haven't had much to do with each other since. We've been busy with work and our women. I'm starting to really miss him, you know? The only time we really speak anymore is at work when he asks me for a consult or wants relationship advice from me—a three, no, four time loser, of all people. So now my girlfriend is gone, I'm still in love with House, and he was too busy tonight fucking his girlfriend to help me through this like he did with the rest of my relationship failures. She's more important to him now and he doesn't need me anymore."

Raquel thought about it for a moment and then said soberly, "I guess the shoe is on the other foot now."

Looking at her in confusion, Wilson blinked watery eyes in an effort to focus on one of the two of her he was seeing. "What?"

She explained patiently, "You put your girlfriend ahead of him and effectively pushed him away, and now he's doing the same thing to you. I'm not saying he's doing it for the same reason, but then again maybe he is."

Sighing heavily under the burden of the truth and his turbulent emotions the oncologist had to admit that she was probably right. Turnabout was fair play—and it sucked elephant balls.

"So what do I do?" he asked her pathetically, knowing it and not caring. "I need my friend back. I may not get him as my…my _boyfriend_ but I need him as my _best _friend. He's acting like he doesn't care about me. I know it's my fault, but I need to do something about it. I've been thinking about trying to break up House and his girlfriend but if they found out I'm doing it I'll lose my friend _and_ my job for good."

"Your job? Why would you lose your job?"

"'Cause his girlfriend is also our boss," Wilson explained miserably. "I'm fucked."

Raquel leaned forward onto the bar and shook her head. "I think you should go home, sleep this off, and reconsider. It's never a good idea to try to break up your best friend's relationship. If he finds out what you're up to, you may lose him as a friend. If he asks for your opinion then tell him what you really think, but that's it."

"But if they don't break up, I'll lose my friend anyway," Wilson insisted, moping.

"I don't know House, but if he's any friend worth having he won't let a romantic involvement come between you. Look, what's your name?"

"James," Wilson told her.

"James," she said, "they say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. If you feel like your friend is taking you for granted or isn't interested in your friendship anymore, you may try making yourself unavailable to him for advice or encouragement. Pretend like you're the one pulling away from him. If he doesn't seem to notice or try to get into contact with you then at least you know for certain that your friendship doesn't mean anything to him anymore and you can move on to people who _will_ appreciate you. However, by holding back and making yourself distant he may discover that he misses you and he'll come looking for _you_. Either way you'll find out the truth and you'll be the one with the power, not him. If you whine, complain, pursue or try to break up his relationship with your boss you're actually surrendering your power to them and making yourself a victim of whatever they choose to do."

Wilson slogged through what she was telling him and it seemed to make sense. He looked at her and smiled weakly. "Do you think you could write that down for me in case I don't remember any of this in the mornin'?"

Raquel smiled broadly and winked at him. "Sure," she told him, "and then I'm going to call you that cab."

**~H/W~**

The next morning Wilson called in sick—he really was, what with the massive hangover he had from overindulging the night before—and wanted nothing to do with anyone for at least a day, choosing to suffer in silent solitude. That silence was broken a few times by him vomiting up the contents of his stomach, which wasn't much, and a ton of bile. It felt like he was going to bring up the stomach itself if the heaving didn't stop soon. His head hurt so badly he couldn't think straight and for a little while, at least, he wanted to curl up in a ball and die. He needed to take some ibuprofen for his head but needed something on his stomach first and also needed to down some fluids to fight the dehydration he was experiencing.

In the kitchen Wilson found a jar of apple sauce in a cabinet, grabbed a spoon, and found a bottle of Gatorade in the back of the fridge that had been Sam's. He sat down at the island and opened the jar. Slowly he forced the sauce down his stomach and drank half of the Gatorade. Beginning to feel a little better he went to the bathroom, found himself some ibuprofen then returned to the kitchen and took it with his Gatorade. After a few more spoonfuls of apple sauce had been swallowed and his Gatorade had been finished off he drank another glass of water and then headed for the ensuite bathroom to take a shower.

As the hot water ran down over him and he scrubbed off the grime of the day before Wilson began to feel human again and while his headache hadn't disappeared yet he was better able to think. Those thoughts went to what had happened the day and evening before. He was mildly surprised that he could remember his conversation with the pretty bartender after having drank so much. In the sober light of day Wilson realized that she had been right about not trying to interfere with House and Cuddy's relationship. He didn't want to risk alienating either one of them and the fact was, Wilson wanted House to be happy, and for all the bumps in the road he seemed to be, if not happy, then genuinely content with Cuddy. It would have been better if House was happy without Cuddy, but that simply wasn't to be, at least not for the time being, so the oncologist would have to just cool his heels and wait.

He considered Raquel's suggestion that he shouldn't push House away but to draw back _from_ him. Her reasoning made sense. It would go to show Wilson how much his friend actually cared about their friendship. If Wilson were distant and aloof enough, House just might begin to miss him, especially his relationship advice. If House missed him enough the older man might make an effort to reconnect with him. It did allow him to keep his power rather than hand it away to House and especially to Cuddy; if she sensed that Wilson was trying to reclaim some of House's time and attention from her she might respond by trying to alienate the men using her sexual favors to manipulate House into doing what she wanted once again. Since House seemed to be thinking with his smaller head these days it was highly possible she could succeed. However, if Wilson didn't give her any ammunition (power) to use against him, he was in a far better position as far as House was concerned. If Cuddy decided to try to alienate House from Wilson under those circumstances, she would only make herself look like the manipulative control-freak she really was.

So that's what he would do, the oncologist decided. He would play it aloof and cool as far as House was concerned and wait to see what happened. It really couldn't get much worse between the diagnostician and him short of their friendship crumbling completely. He knew that that wouldn't happen if he was careful not to do anything to interfere with Cuddy and the older man.

In spite of his queasy stomach and throbbing head Wilson smiled.

He spent the rest of his shower trying to think about Sam being in the shower with him as he jerked off but his thoughts kept straying to House being there instead and so he just gave into it. That excited him more anyway.

After the shower Wilson dressed in a t-shirt, boxers and sweatpants then headed to the living room to watch a little TV. Before he got there he saw that the light on his answering machine was flashing incessantly. After checking his watch Wilson had a pretty good idea who it was that had called but listened to the message anyway.

(Beep) _"Sick, huh? I'll just bet,"_ House's sarcastic voice said from the recording. _"So, did you make me proud last night and take home a pretty one night stand or are you worshipping the Porcelain Goddess of Excess? Sorry about last night but just because you're not getting any anymore doesn't mean I shouldn't. Call me when you're done puking."_

Wilson looked at the machine bitterly and promptly erased the message. "Fuck off, House," he mumbled grumpily as he shuffled to the living room and dropped onto the sofa. Grabbing the remote control for the TV from its proper spot on the coffee table he turned the set on and channel surfed until he found the Game Show Network and began to watch some beat the clock show from the early seventies. He tried to compete with the contestants on screen to distract himself from thinking about Sam and House. He sat there like that for two solid hours, completely vegging out when the phone rang again. Once again he allowed the answering machine to pick up.

(Beep) "_Wow, you really must have pickled your liver!"_ House said, his voice sounding a little less sarcastic and a little more edgy than before. _"Listen, Cuddy's pissed that you called in sick and is threatening to laden you with enough clinic hours to keep you busy night and day until Easter. I've tried to smooth things over with her, if you know what I mean, and she's agreed to pass on the hours if you get your ass in here by one. See you in a while."_

Wilson didn't budge from the couch, appreciative of House's attempt to spare him punishment from his bitch of a girlfriend, but the oncologist was still angry at his so-called best friend and had no intention of caving to Cuddy's demands. That was House's job now. The Dean of Medicine could shove her extra clinic hours up that fat ass of hers. His head was still hurting and now he was fuming indignantly as well.

Another hour and a half passed before House called again. Wilson had dozed off but awoke with the first ring of the phone.

(Beep) _"Well, now you've gone and done it, you moron! She's on the warpath and has threatened to add clinic hours at me since you didn't come in. It's divide and conquer and since I've got more to lose here than you do I'm coming to drag your ass into the hospital unless you call me in the next ten minutes. At least let me know you weren't rolled by a group of pre-pubescent ne'er-do-wells last night."_

With a sigh of resignation Wilson pulled himself off of his sofa and headed to the phone to call the diagnostician back when he stopped halfway there. What was he doing? He was supposed to be aloof and distant, not running to the phone to satisfy House's curiosity! Cuddy had no authority to punish him for not coming in. He had weeks' worth of sick time owing to him and he had a right to claim one day of them without his boss breathing down his neck.

Instead of calling House back, Wilson called Dr. Brown, one of his colleagues, and made arrangements with him to cover his patients for a week now and then when Brown wanted some time off later, Wilson would cover his. His next call was to Human Resources where he arranged to use one of his weeks of sick days starting immediately. The HR officer had been reluctant to comply due to Cuddy's reaction to the oncologist taking one day off but had finally conceded after having to admit that the Dean of Medicine really couldn't do much of anything to either one of them in retaliation. Since it was Friday and Wilson standardly had the weekends off he wouldn't have to be back until a week from this coming Monday. He smiled, thinking that he couldn't have planned it better himself if he'd _arranged_ for Sam to leave him when she did. A week and a half of rest and recuperation was exactly what the doctor ordered.

With all of that arranged he went and packed a suitcase. He figured a road trip was in order. He didn't exactly know where he was going; he'd get in his car, pick a direction and just drive until dark, find a motel and stop for the night and then continue on come the next morning. He knew that House would be annoying enough to try to track him down and Wilson didn't want that. He needed time alone to think about what his future held for him and what exactly to do about his friendship with the diagnostician. So, he decided that he would avoid using his credit cards or debit card and would stop at the bank to withdraw cash before he left Princeton. If House worried a little bit about him, that could be a good thing, too. Chances were, however, that Cuddy and her revolving vagina would keep him distracted enough not to really care if the younger man was gone for a few days.

He was about to go out the door of the loft when the phone rang again. Wilson stood in the foyer and listened to the message from there.

(Beep) _"Wilson, pick up the fucking phone! I know you're probably pissed that I kicked you out last night but you would have done the same thing if you'd been in my shoes. I just got Cuddy willing to see me again and if I'd called to cancel with her I'd probably be cut off for another two weeks….Pick up the phone! Fine! I'm on my way over."_

Resisting the urge to set his best friend's mind at ease, Wilson shook his head and left the loft apartment. House could come over for all he cared, but he wasn't going to be there when the older man arrived.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: ****The Other Foot, Pt. 2 of 5**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Word Count:**

**Pairings/Characters:** House/Wilson preslash-UST/possible slash; House/Cuddy, mention of Wilson/Sam.

**Category(ies):** Angst, Drama, Romance.

**Rating: M**

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all episodes up to and including 7x8. Coarse language including F-bombs, drug and alcohol use and explicit sexuality. Reader discretion is strongly encouraged.

**A/N:** This is a post-episode response to the episode 7x8 "Small Sacrifices". It picks up immediately after the last scene.

**Part Two**

Dr. Gregory House was putting on his jacket when the Dean of Medicine at PPTH showed up at the door of his office looking perturbed. He knew what it was she wanted and it wasn't him—this time.

Lisa Cuddy opened her mouth to speak when House prevented her by speaking himself. "I know he's not here yet. Yes, I left another message at the loft and his cell phone voicemail. He hasn't responded to any of the pages either. No, I don't know what he thinks he's doing and for the fifth and final time I don't care if he was supposed to meet with a very wealthy donor today. I'm heading over to the loft right now to see what's up."

"You can't leave," Cuddy told him, handing him a blue file, "you have a new case."

"No, I don't," House told her, pushing the file back at her. "I already told you that I wasn't taking the guy bleeding from his eyes. His problem was diagnosed when he was three—hemophilia. The fact that the idiot took a handful of aspirin does not make him a case." He picked up his helmet.

"You haven't read the file," she told him, frowning. "You looked at the first page for one second. There's no way you could know all of that from a one second look."

"You're right," the diagnostician told her, trying to get past her but she effectively blocked the door. "Show it to Foreman. If he thinks it's a case then have him call me. Please, move out of the way. I used 'please' just the way you like."

"Wilson is simply sulking because you had plans last night and couldn't get drunk and hold his hand," Cuddy insisted disdainfully. "It's unprofessional. You do not need to go over there and reward his behavior."

House frowned at her as if he was looking at one of his clinic patients. "Sam left him last night. He was more than upset when he showed up at my apartment. He was in love with her and proposed to her only to have her run out on him for the second time in his life. I felt like an ass kicking him out last night, but I chose you over him. What else do you want from me? Wilson is Mr. Dependable. I have never known him to miss work because of a hangover. The man is so conscientious it's sickening. The fact that he's missing work today is significant. He's more than just pouting."

"What was that remark about choosing me over him?" Cuddy demanded and House wondered if she'd heard anything else he'd just said. "I didn't make you do that."

"You're right," House told her, struggling to keep a civil tone of voice with her. He didn't want to argue—he just wanted to go and check on Wilson to make certain he was okay. "That choice was mine because I missed you and wanted to be with you after a week of the cold shoulder. But Wilson is my best friend and I miss him, too; last night I gave _him_ the cold shoulder. That's why I'm leaving to go check on him."

"You're really concerned about him, aren't you?" she asked, her features and tone of voice softening.

Reluctantly House nodded. "You didn't know him yet when Sam left him the first time," he told her grimly. "It basically shattered his self-esteem."

"And his heart," Cuddy suggested. House rolled his eyes at the sentimentality of what she'd said.

"Anyway," he continued after sighing, "he was in a bad way for a long time after that. Of his three ex-wives I think she was the one he loved the most and he really thought that the both of them had changed enough to make this second time around work. I want to make certain he's alright."

Nodding, Cuddy relaxed her stance, looking genuinely concerned as well. "Okay, you check on him and I'll give this to Foreman."

"If he's not doing too well I'll probably stick with him and not return to the hospital today," House told her. "If Foreman thinks it's a case then have him contact me."

"Will I see you tonight?" she asked him as she walked out of his office with him.

"I'll try," he told her, knowing already that he probably wouldn't but not wanting to start another cold war with her. "It depends where he's at. If not then I'll see you tomorrow. I'll drop by your place before work to say hello." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

"I doubt talking will be on your mind," she told him sarcastically and giving him a small smile before turning on her heel and heading for the DDx room with the file. House watched her hips and ass as she did, appreciating the view before continuing on to the elevator.

He didn't particularly enjoy misleading her but it had become necessary lately. She had a problem separating her role as his boss at work from the way she interacted with him personally. He didn't know if her manipulations were intentional or not but they were definitely vexing to him.

He'd started out in this relationship with Cuddy trying as hard as he could to please her but had come to the conclusion not long after that it was impossible. The only way he would ever get her complete approval was to become Lucas and hand his balls over to her on a silver platter. He had no intention of doing that. That's how he knew this relationship was doomed—but that didn't mean he wasn't going to milk the sex out of it for as long as he could. It wasn't that House didn't love her—he did—but he wasn't _in_ love with her. He never had been nor had he claimed to be. Yes, there was the sexual chemistry that no one who had ever seen them together could deny existed, and they were friends of sorts, foils for each other definitely. However, House had known back then just as well as he knew now that he Cuddy and he were simply not a smart match and a long-term serious relationship between them would never succeed.

If Wilson were to come to House and tell him that he loved him too, Cuddy would be history. No one meant more to House than Wilson; _no one_. House hadn't chosen Cuddy over the life of his Hepatitis C patient, but if it had come down to it he knew he would have chosen Wilson over him.

That was the real reason House felt like a complete jerk brushing off Wilson the night before. He knew that Wilson had tried so hard to make this relationship with Sam work this time and that he really had loved her. Like the first time, this break up would have been a crushing blow to his best friend and he would have needed someone to keep him from going off and doing something incredibly stupid to himself or someone else. Yet House knew that if he hadn't put Cuddy ahead of Wilson she would have been furious and would have taken it as a personal slight, an indication that the diagnostician wasn't serious about making a go of their relationship. If House couldn't have Wilson then he needed somebody and Cuddy had shown herself willing (for the most part). He couldn't risk losing her without a back-up plan.

As it was their evening of passion last night had been less than electric because House hadn't been able to get his mind off of Wilson and worrying about him. House hadn't been able to show the same control he usually did and Cuddy had been less than ecstatic about having to wait until House was conscious enough to take care of her needs as well. After, as she'd been dressing so she could go home to relieve the babysitter, Cuddy had demanded to know what was distracting House. He'd made the mistake of telling her the truth and the Dean of Medicine had left resentful of Wilson for 'ruining' their evening; her slight shift in attitude today had little if any effect on House's frustration with her. He shouldn't have had to argue with her to be able to check on Wilson. A couple of years ago she would have ordered him to do it. Somewhere along the way Lisa Cuddy had changed—and not for the better.

House wondered if Cuddy didn't sense that his feelings for Wilson went beyond the platonic and felt threatened by it.

On his ride over to the loft House couldn't stop thinking of scenarios of the horrible things that could have happened to Wilson after he'd left the apartment last night. He'd smelt like he'd already had a couple of drinks under his belt before he'd driven over to see House. What if he'd gone to a bar, got completely loaded, and had managed to leave with his car keys? House had mental pictures of a broken and bloodied Wilson trapped in his car which had driven off of the road and had rolled down a steep embankment somewhere. It was possible that Wilson had made it home in one piece but had literally drowned in his own puke. It was also possible that Cuddy was right and the oncologist was simply lying low and sulking. That was most likely the case but House couldn't relax until he'd made certain.

House parked his Honda Repsol on the street out front of the condo building where Wilson lived. He went quickly up the walkway to the building in spite of his aching gimp leg. Once inside he took the elevator up to the top floor. Once it arrived House limped quickly to Wilson's front door. He rang the door bell a couple of times with no response from within. Impatiently he took to rapping on the door with his cane.

"Wilson, I know you're in there! Open the door! Wilson?"

After he received no sign of acknowledgement House's stomach began to tense up, forming knots and anxiety reared its ugly head. Swallowing hard against his emotions he took out the copy of the key that had been his which he'd given back to Wilson when he'd moved out and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and stuck his head inside to look around.

"Wilson?" he called a little more nervously. House stepped into the loft apartment and shut the door behind him. Nothing. He looked for clues in the foyer. One of Wilson's jackets hung on a hook but House wasn't certain if it had been the one the oncologist had been wearing the night before. Moving further into the apartment he crossed the living room as he headed for the kitchen.

"Wilson? If you're here then get your ass the hell out here!"

He noticed that the TV had been left in standby mode instead of _off_ and the remote rested on the seat of the sofa instead of its designated place on the coffee table. A red flag went off in House's head. He went to the kitchen. There was an open jar of apple sauce with a spoon sticking out of it sitting on the counter. An empty Gatorade bottle had been left in the sink instead of having been rinsed out and put into the recycling bin. Both indicated that something wasn't quite right but they weren't conclusive. Another red flag.

House began to search the rest of the loft, ending with the master bedroom and ensuite. The bed was made but there were a few items of clothing resting on it instead of being hung up in the closet or neatly folded and placed into a drawer. He went to the closet and opened it. A few of Sam's items remained; she likely hadn't had enough room in her suitcase for it all and would be sending for the rest of her stuff at a later date. What caught House's eye, however, was the fact that one of Wilson's suitcases was missing. It was yet another red flag. House frowned as he filed that piece of information with the rest he was gathering and went to the bathroom. The shower had been used earlier that day; there was still some moisture in the bottom of the tub and House knew that Wilson didn't do baths. Wilson's toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, razor, blow drier, aftershave and toiletry bag to carry it all were also gone.

One thing that House found interesting was that there were three partial bottles of three different kinds of SSRI antidepressants in the medicine cabinet, the oldest of which was the Prozac that had been dispensed six months ago, the Paxil from three months ago and the Wellbutrin two months ago. House hadn't known that Wilson was still on the meds. From the varying kinds it appeared that his shrink had had difficulty finding the right one for Wilson. The Wellbutrin three-hundreds were supposed to be taken once a day in the mornings with food. He'd been prescribed a month's worth and there looked to be ten or so left in the bottle. Either the Wellbutrin hadn't worked either and he'd been changed to a different antidepressant which he'd taken along with the other personal items or he'd stopped taking them partway through treatment. Some antidepressants had to build up in a patient's system before they actually became effective but by the looks of it Wilson hadn't taken it long enough for it to become apparent whether it was going to work for him or not. It would be unusual for a shrink to stop a medication before it was possible to determine its efficacy unless, of course, there had been severe side-effects or an allergic reaction which had necessitated an immediate and premature stop. However, in the past couple of months he hadn't noticed at any time any indication of negative side-effects or allergic reactivity in his best friend.

Either Wilson had stopped taking his meds suddenly (never a wise thing to do unless instructed to do so by his shrink) or he was on new ones. What that told House was that Wilson was still struggling with depression and now this event had occurred which obviously had had a big impact on him; then when he'd turned to the diagnostician for help House had turned his back on him. That worried House, wondering where the younger man's mental health was sitting at the moment. Would he do something to harm himself should the depression get to be too much for him to handle? The thought made House sick to his stomach.

One thing was for certain: Wilson had gone away somewhere and intended on being gone long enough to require more than just a carry-on to transport the clothes and other items he was going to need, and he'd left in a hurry. Where he'd gone, for how long, and why were still unknowns. What if Wilson had left for good, never intending on returning to Princeton, his job, and his best friend. Those two possibilities turned House's blood cold.

If only he had called Cuddy and had tried to explain the situation so he could have been there for Wilson last night! If she'd reacted the way he'd expected, that would have exposed the flaw in _her_ character, not his—and did he really want a woman who would refuse to take into consideration the extenuating circumstances of the situation and still insist House put her first above all else as she had with the Hep C patient? She would have ended up with one more night without sex; Wilson could end up dead.

House pulled out his cellphone and called Cuddy to fill her in on what was going on. After he told her what he'd found she sounded less concerned and more angry again.

"He didn't say a word to me about taking a vacation," the Dean of Medicine told House tersely. "I'll get a hold of Human Resources and find out what they know."

"He may not have left with fun and relaxation in mind," House told her. "When Wilson can't handle a situation and the emotions associated with it he runs away. He's had yet another relationship implode on him and when that happens he blames himself for it. Tell me, how does one run away from himself?"

"You don't think he would…?" Cuddy asked him but couldn't finish her thought, probably due to the horror of it.

"I don't know," House answered, not admitting that Wilson harming himself was at the top of his list of suspicions. "Look, you find out what you can there and I'm going to do a little snooping around of my own. Call me when you learn anything." Without giving her chance to protest or demand that he return to work he ended the call.

He did one more sweep of the bedroom, looking for something—anything—to indicate where his friend was. He found it in the form of a small receipt that had fallen and fluttered to the floor just under Wilson's bed. Using his cane he dragged it out and then carefully bent to pick it up. It was a receipt from a bar dated yesterday. The amount of Wilson's bill caused House to frown. Wilson had tied one on, alright. House recognized the pub—he'd been there once or twice himself but not for a couple of years. He flipped it over and saw something written in blue ink in a woman's handwriting.

_James,_

_Remember, distance makes the heart grow fonder. Back off, be patient. If you need to talk, you know where to find me._

_Raquel_

"Raquel," House said out loud. He didn't recognize the name. She must have been someone Wilson met at the pub, an ear for him to talk to…or perhaps they did more than talk. The message wasn't particularly sexy or romantic. There was no phone number scribbled on the back, but the phone number for the pub was on the front of the receipt. House pulled out his cellphone and called the number.

"Hello, Yancy's Pub, Bill speaking," came the answer after two rings.

"Hi," House said, "I'm calling for Raquel."

"She doesn't work until seven," the voice told him. "Can I take a message?"

"No, that's fine. I'll call back," House answered and then hung up. Call? No, he wasn't going to call. He was going to show up at the pub and have a face to face talk with spent another fifteen minutes looking for clues around the loft as to where exactly Wilson may have gone. Next he went down to the building's underground parking garage to make certain that Wilson's car was, in fact, gone. The oncologist could have taken a cab to the airport if he had flown anywhere. With the vehicle in fact gone it likely meant that wherever Wilson had fled to he was driving there; Wilson avoided using airport park and fly car lots so he almost always caught a cab or got a ride from a friend when he travelled by plane. House turned back toward the elevator when the door opened and someone stepped out. House rolled his eyes. It was Nora, the woman who had believed that Wilson and he had been gay lovers when House had still been staying there. Even after having both he and Wilson tell her that they were not gay she had never completely believed them.

"Hi Greg!" she said with a smile, walking over to him.

"Hi, Nora," he answered, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. He leg was bothering him more than it usually did lately.

"It's been a while," she told him, nodding. "I haven't seen you since you moved out and that _woman_ moved in with James. I can't think of her name right now. She's not the friendliest person."

"Her name is Sam," House told her, and was about to step around her and head for the elevator when she caught his eye and gently put a hand on his arm.

"Well, she's gone now so I guess it doesn't matter what her name is," she told him. "James always looked happier when you were living here than he did with her."

House saw the look in her eyes and could tell compassion when he saw it. Apparently Nora had figured out that House had been asked to leave and had been replaced by the unfriendly Sam and she felt badly for House.

He didn't know why he did it but House decided to have a little fun at her expense and maybe find out if she knew anything about Wilson's whereabouts at the same time.

"Well, I guess I just wasn't what James wanted in a…roommate," he told her, feigning a look of hurt. "I tried but…" He allowed his voice to trail off.

She nodded in understanding. "I know. It was his idea to, you know, tell me that you two weren't, you know, and that it all had been a stupid competition between the two of you, wasn't it…?"

House gave her a little nod and sighed. "You said that Sam is gone? When did that happen?"

"Yesterday," Nora told him with a smile, happy that she had an opportunity to spread a little gossip. "They went to some wedding or fancy function and she came home before he did looking like she was pissed off. I was at Belinda's in 1C and was heading back to my apartment when she came storming in. I tried to be friendly and say hi but she glared at me and I swear she muttered 'Shut up, bitch'. James must have arrived home a little while later. I was on my way to the laundromat—it's always quieter there after seven—when I got onto the elevator she was on her way down here and she was on her cellphone making arrangements with a hotel. I was a little concerned for James so I went up to your—I mean, his—place and he was a little upset. He was drinking…I told him that if he needed to talk he could give me a shout."

"Wow," House told her, frowning. "He tried to contact me last night but I wasn't available to talk. I was a little concerned about him and decided to stop by today to see if he was alright, but he's not home and his car isn't here—but he wasn't at work today, either. I'm a little worried about James. I know he was really upset."

"Oh, well he stopped by my apartment earlier to ask me if I would keep an eye on the loft and water his plants because he said he was going away to work through some issues and he wasn't certain when he'd be back."

This was what House had been hoping for; asking directly would likely have sparked suspicion from the woman. This way she felt she was confiding rather than betraying.

"Did he say where he was going?" he asked her. "Did he decide to go after her?"

Nora shook her head, "No, I don't know. He really was very dejected. I asked him if he had any idea where he was going and he shrugged and said that he might go east."

East, House thought, his mind working out the possibilities. Wilson had casual friends in New York that he exchanged holiday cards with but House doubted that he was close enough to them to bother travelling to visit them for the sake of visiting. House knew that if he were trying to lose himself, New York would the perfect place to go. Then again, if it was House he'd probably head to somewhere like Atlantic City, hang out around the casinos and strip clubs, and drink the entire time.

He must have looked worried because Nora was rubbing his arm consolingly. "It's too bad he didn't realize how lucky he was with you around. That woman…well, she gave me the impression that she thought she was better than everyone else, including him. You still love him, don't you?"

House opened his mouth to say no but somehow he didn't have the heart to lie to her. He did love Wilson and he was scared for him. Sighing, he nodded almost imperceptibly. He and Wilson had never been lovers…but House had wanted them to be. Now he was with Cuddy, but he still wanted his best friend so much more.

"Hmm," she hummed sadly, "I'm sorry, Greg."

House muttered a thank you and then headed back upstairs to the loft after Nora had gone to her car and had driven away. So what had he learned from her? Wilson left in a hurry as if running away from someone or something, wasn't positive where he was going or for how long but was possibly heading east and had been quite depressed when he left. That information did absolutely nothing to alleviate his fears. Back at the loft he did one more sweep, looking for something—anything—to indicate where his friend was; finding nothing more he locked up the place and headed for home.

**~H/W~**

Yancy's Pub was relatively busy when House arrived at seven-fifteen. House noticed that the bartender was a pretty and petite young woman with Titian-colored hair. He figured that she had to be the Raquel who had scribbled the cryptic message on the back of Wilson's receipt. The two other staff members, both of which were servers, were male. House limped up to the bar. The pretty bartender greeted him with a smile.

"What can I get you?" she asked him.

"I'll have a scotch neat, Raquel," he told her, watching for her reaction.

The strawberry-blonde raised a curious eyebrow at him and she grabbed a glass, pouring his drink and placing it in front of him. "You have the advantage, Mister…?"

"Doctor," he corrected her mildly, "House. And we've never met but I believe you've met a friend of mine. Dr. James Wilson?"

Raquel looked up at him in surprise. She placed the drink down in front of him. "There was a man who came in here last night who said his name was James," she told him, regarding him with eyes that seemed to be comparing him to some mental image. "He mentioned he had a friend named House. Oh my gosh, is he alright? He was pretty drunk when he left here last night but I called him a cab and saw him get into it."

"He made it home alright," House assured her, "but since then he's disappeared. I've been trying to locate him with no luck. What state of mind was he in when he was here last night?"

"He was pretty depressed, actually," she answered. "He said he'd lost both his girlfriend and best friend. He seemed like he really needed to talk to someone and we weren't busy so I listened."

"He thinks he lost his best friend?" House asked her, frowning. "Did he say why he thought that?"

"Because his best friend didn't need him anymore," she answered pointedly, leveling a knowing gaze on him. "He spends most of the time he's not working on pacifying his girlfriend and keeping their relationship working. The only time this friend has time for him is to drop into his office and ask for relationship advice. Otherwise he's been pushing him away in favor of the woman and sex. He acknowledged that it was his own fault, that he'd done the same thing to him in the past but his reasons for it seemed more defendable, at least in my opinion."

"And what would that be?" House demanded, knowing that she knew he was the best friend and not appreciating being judged by a total stranger, even if everything she'd said rung true.

"I _know_ but…I don't think I should share that information with anyone," she answered. "It was a confession I don't think he wants anyone he knows to find out about—something he had to get off of his chest to someone who wouldn't say anything to the people he cares about most. If anyone found out, it would radically alter his life, probably for the negative, permanently."

House sat back in his chair, feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Wilson believed that House didn't care about or need him anymore? Yes, Wilson had behaved similarly towards House in the past and he'd believed Wilson was oblivious to his own patterns but apparently he'd become more self-aware since House had moved out of the loft. House despised that kind of behavior in Wilson and hated the idea that he'd been doing the same thing with Cuddy. The truth was he had been distracted by her in both good and bad ways. He hadn't been aware that Wilson had been neglected—which is probably what had happened with Wilson concerning House.

What could Wilson's reason be? It had to be something major that even a total stranger like Raquel would recognize that it would be something Wilson wouldn't want publicized. What would prompt Wilson to need to find a woman and then push House away in a cyclical pattern? The relationships Wilson formed with these women always failed; Wilson and he would end up closer than ever. As soon as that happened, Wilson would invariably go hunting for another woman to start the process over again—but why? Why would he need to find someone else just when things were getting to the point between the two men that House almost told Wilson the truth about how he felt about him…?

"Damn," House said out loud, "Wilson is in love with me."

Raquel said nothing but the look she gave him was all the confirmation he needed. A smile crossed his lips before he realized it and hid it again.

"Where did he go?"

"He didn't tell me, Dr. House," she answered. "He figured he would just pick a direction and drive. I'm sorry I can't tell you any more than that. Do you think he's in danger?"

House couldn't lie. "I don't know," he answered. "It's possible. The idiot—how could he think that I don't care?"

"Well if you do care, I hope you find him okay, Dr. House," Raquel told him. "He seems like a nice man who just got a little confused and afraid and I'd like to see things turn out well for him." She walked away. House finished his drink in one swallow, set the glass down, threw enough cash down onto the bar to cover the bill and a tip, and then left the bar.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: ****The Other Foot, Pt. 3 of 5**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Word Count:**

**Pairings/Characters:** House/Wilson preslash-UST/possible slash; House/Cuddy, mention of Wilson/Sam.

**Category(ies):** Angst, Drama, Romance.

**Rating: NC-17/M**

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all episodes up to and including 7x8. Coarse language including F-bombs, drug and alcohol use and explicit sexuality. Reader discretion is strongly encouraged.

**A/N:** This is a post-episode response to the episode 7x8 "Small Sacrifices". It picks up immediately after the last scene.

**Part Three**

House would have expected him to go to New York where he could easily disappear for a while; that's why Wilson headed for Atlantic City instead. He wasn't much of a gambler, but his interest wasn't in the casinos anyway. All he wanted was to forget—forget Sam, forget House, forget that he was all alone and confused about his sexual identity. He needed to figure out who he really was, apart from the denial and lies and scrutiny.

He got a room at a smaller hotel-casino just off of the boardwalk and paid in cash. He didn't intend to be spending too much time there. Being alone would only cause him to think about the fact that he was a middle-aged man without a friend or lover, possibly a closeted gay who convinced himself that he was heterosexual his entire life and wondering if that life was really worth this much effort. He had no idea what he was doing, how to test himself, what to think or what to do concerning his screwed-up friendship with the diagnostician.

He showered shortly after arrival, washing away the uncomfortable feeling of driving a distance. Standing nude in front of the large bathroom mirror he took a good look at all of his parts, trying to see himself objectively as to the attractiveness of his body. He figured he wasn't too bad. He could use to lose twenty pounds, he decided, but it wasn't like he was obese. He was well-endowed and had never felt self-conscious as well as that was concerned. His face bothered him the most. When had he gotten old? What had happened to boy wonder oncologist, the man who had beautiful women (and the occasional gay or bisexual man) pursuing him? In front of him was a middle-aged man, single with no family and no real friends. Sure, he had a successful career which he was happy with, in spite of the depressing aspects of it, but that alone wasn't enough. He needed to be wanted and needed, and he had neither.

The one person he wanted most to want and need him never would. Sure, he could continue to develop relationships with needy women, fix them and then grow bored with them over and over again and in that sense not be alone, or explore the possibility that he was actually homosexual and that he had been denying the truth, thus his many failed attempts at long-term relationships with women. It would never be enough, though. He was in love with House, and House was heterosexual and in love with Cuddy. Wilson knew that he'd never really love anyone else, so he would never truly be happy. What was the point of life if one wasn't happy?

Wilson decided that he was going to kill two birds with one stone—explore the possibility that he was gay and no matter what he learned, end the evening by getting completely wasted and crawling back to his hotel room. How did one dress if one wanted to attract another man? He thought about the occasional times he'd found himself attracted physically to a man (yes, he had been attracted to men other than House in the past and had been curious, but he'd never taken that seriously and had never actually had sex) and what it had been that had caught his attention. After a moment he pulled out a chocolate brown v-neck sweater and dark pants that were a little tighter on him and nicely accentuated his ass. The sweater brought out the warmth in his dark eyes and with no tee underneath showed some of the darker hair on his chest without being grossly obvious. He shaved and slapped on some of his favorite aftershave, styled his hair so that it was softer and more casual than he wore it at work and then appraised himself. He nodded in satisfaction.

He had no idea where to go to find gay or bisexual men. A gay bar would be ideal but he didn't know Atlantic City well enough to know where one was. An idea struck him. There were complimentary computers with free internet access in the lobby. Grabbing his wallet and key card Wilson made his way down to the lobby. One of the computers was free. He sat himself in front of it and began to search Google for what he was looking for. Immediately he found a list of bars and clubs that catered to the GLBT community. A karaoke bar caught his eye. He smiled. He loved karaoke but he'd never allowed House to find out about that. He had no idea what his friend would think about that and knew that no matter what his opinion he would use the knowledge to torture the oncologist one way or another for weeks, maybe even months. He found a receipt in his pocket and scribbled the address on the back.

It was a short drive from his hotel. As he pulled into the parking lot he noticed a few people milling around outside the bar smoking or simply talking and flirting. A smile crossed his lips before anxiety welled up. Wilson parked his car and turned off the ignition. He stared at the building and the people, his breathing increasing. Did he want to do this? Was he making a mistake? Maybe he should leave, drive to a liquor store, buy an obscene amount of scotch and bourbon and return to his hotel where he would promptly become as blitzed as he possibly could before he passed out.

_Then you'll never know for certain and continue pursuing a lifestyle that may leave you empty and dissatisfied, _he told himself silently. _You need to know before you even think about revealing your feelings to House._

"Shit," Wilson said aloud, forcing himself to get out of the car before he wimped out. Swallowing hard he compelled his legs forward. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and his mouth felt dry. He needed a drink, but reminded himself that he couldn't drink too much if he still wanted to be able to function sexually. There was no point in coming to the bar if he wasn't willing or able to go all the way. As he passed a few of the men standing outside the main entrance, he felt a couple of pairs of eyes following him. He took a deep breath and evaluated how he felt about that. It didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. That was interesting. Inside he found a seat at the bar and sat down. From there he could see the stage once the karaoke started. The bar was filling up with a few couples but mostly singles on the prowl, like him. He shook his head at himself at the thought of being on the prowl at a GLBT establishment. Fleetingly he wondered what House would think if he knew he was there. Then he shook his head again. There was no way House could ever find out he was there.

He was about to order a scotch, neat when he decided that he was going to do things differently tonight, so instead of his standard drink he ordered what had been Amber's favorite—a Cosmopolitan. He'd never had one before and wondered what it was that she'd liked so much about them. He didn't want to order Sam's favorite—a Manhattan—because it was too soon to be having anything to do with the woman. House usually drank scotch or bourbon so there was nothing new there.

He felt a pang of hurt upon thinking about House and noted how thinking about Sam had brought up more anger than hurt. Amber? Well, Amber just brought back bittersweet emotions—love and joy and sadness. There wasn't any more anger when he thought about her—hadn't been for months now. The bartender set his drink down in front of him and Wilson plunked down the cash to cover it. Looking at the drink he realized how girly it looked and smirked. _Ah, well…_

Wilson had put the ringer of his cellphone on vibrate. He felt it go off for the twentieth time that day and he had a pretty good idea who it was calling. House had been trying to get a hold of him all afternoon and on into the evening. The oncologist felt a little guilty about not taking his calls. He wondered if the diagnostician was pissed at being ignored or worried. _Naw_, Wilson thought. House wasn't worried. He wasn't concerned or worried the night before when he'd kicked Wilson to the curb in favor of Cuddy's pussy. Why would he be now? He was probably with Cuddy, waiting for her to get out of the bathroom so they could fuck before she had to rush home to relieve the babysitter or tend to Rachel crying from her crib. Fuck and argue—that's all she and House seemed to do when they were together outside of work. Well, he was done playing relationship counselor. House would have to figure out how to deal with the prima donna on his own from now on.

He checked the call display to make certain that it wasn't someone from the hospital trying to get a hold of him concerning one of his patients. Nope, it was House. Wilson let it go to voicemail and put the phone back into his pocket. He sipped at the Cosmopolitan, realized it tasted pretty good, and smiled slightly. One, maybe two now; he couldn't have any more than that—enough to ease his nerves, not enough to deaden his cock.

Taking another sip he set the glass down and turned to look around the rest of the bar again. For some reason he found it easy to ignore the beautiful women because he knew that almost all of them were only interested in other beautiful women. Besides, leaving with one of them would prove nothing. He already knew he could have sex with the opposite gender. He wanted to know if he could handle it with a man. For that reason he focused on the men in the room, ignoring the ones that were already coupled—or tripled—up. He forced any thoughts of this being unnatural or wrong out of his head. He wasn't going to allow second guessing tonight. There were a few men around his age or a little older that he figured were good-looking. Usually he would compare himself to them as far as being attractive to women went. Tonight he simply looked to see if any of them sparked any sexual interest in him. His eyes suddenly met the gaze of another pair staring at him. A tall, slender blond man looked at him. He was well-built and looked like he weight-trained but wasn't obsessive enough about it to pump himself full of steroids to bulk up. He had pale eyes and Wilson couldn't tell if they were grey or blue. He wore green, one of the oncologist's favorite colors. The other man gave him a slight smile. Wilson realized he was smiling too and then forced himself to look away.

Yup, the doctor thought to himself. He'd actually felt something with that one, a small jolt of electricity to his groin that both scared the shit out of him and excited him. He had to be objective. He couldn't allow his years of identifying himself as strictly hetero cloud his responses. After all, there had been that one pub crawl in undergrad where he and a couple of friends had gone out to tie one on after a stressful week of mid-term exams and he'd ended up drunk in the back corner of a campus pub necking with some guy he'd never seen before and would end up never seeing again. Things had failed to go further than kissing when the other guy's boyfriend showed up and tried to rearrange Wilson's face. At the time he'd blamed that incident on the booze and had told himself that over and over until he'd believed it.

Of course, there was the way one look from House could arouse him like nothing else, immediately after which he usually made himself scarce and waited for the tenting of his pants to disappear. But was he homosexual, bisexual or House-sexual? For some reason it was important for him to know.

Casually he turned around to face the bar again and drank his Cosmopolitan. A youngish man wearing a server's uniform came up to him carrying a clipboard and pen.

"Hi," the fellow said, smiling. Wilson's eyes were drawn to the snake-bite piercings in his lower lip, wondering how much it had hurt to have that done.

"Hi," Wilson responded, trying to sound upbeat.

"I'm going around taking down the names of people who are interested in participating in karaoke tonight," the bar employee said, "We'll be starting in a few minutes. Are you in?"

Wilson's first reflex was to say no but he stopped himself. He was doing things differently. He was going with his gut. He loved to sing, always had, but had avoided doing it anywhere but the shower for fear of House's ridicule. Only, he wasn't here tonight. The oncologist was finding himself.

"Yes," he told the server. "My name is James. Do I pick the song I want?"

"Yes," was the answer. "If you can think of it we've got it on file."

Thinking about it for a moment Wilson then smiled and took the pen, writing down the name of the song in the blank next to his name. The server looked at it and then nodded in approval, moving on. Wilson was about to order another Cosmopolitan when the bartender came over to him with one without being asked. Wilson looked at him questioningly and the bartender leaned closer.

"Compliments of the gentleman in the green shirt five tables down," the oncologist was told.

Stunned that someone was buying him a drink when he was used to being the one to do that for women, Wilson turned to look at the guy he'd met eyes with earlier. The man in green smiled alluringly and lifted his drink slightly. Wilson felt the stirring in his trousers again and told himself it was okay. This was okay. Just let it happen. He smiled back at him with a nod and then nonchalantly turned back to the bar. If this played out the way Wilson expected it to, in a few minutes the man in green would approach him to say hello. Wilson swallowed hard, flushing. He drank his drink and allowed himself the slight thrill of anticipation in the midst of his uncertainty.

A staff member appeared on the stage and welcomed the guests and announced that the karaoke competition was about to begin. Wilson hadn't been aware that it was a competition. Oh well, at least he could enjoy singing and relax knowing in advance that he wasn't in the contending anyway. He turned to face the stage, holding his drink and the first contestant was called up to the stage to a smattering of applause. She looked down at her date who happened to be an attractive brunette in a form-fitting black dress. She began to sing and didn't sound too bad although she seemed to be having difficulty seeing the words on the karaoke screen.

About a half-dozen others went up and had their turn at the mike. When his name was called next, Wilson set his drink down and took a deep breath. He turned to the woman next to him and took out his cell phone.

"Would you mind recording this for me? It's for a friend," he asked. She smiled and took the phone.

"Sure, Sweetheart," she told him. "Go sing your heart out."

Wilson walked up to the stage. He was told to introduce himself and the song he was going to sing. From somewhere in the crowd there came a cat call but with the spot light on him Wilson couldn't see who did it and was actually glad he couldn't.

"Hi, I'm James," he said into the blinding light, "and I'm singing 'Without You' as performed by Harry Nilsson."

The music was cued and began to play. The oncologist couldn't believe what he was doing. He was definitely insane but what the hell. His life couldn't get any crazier than it already was, could it?

His voice was a smooth tenor and despite what House said about his singing in the shower he knew he was pretty good. He put himself into the song as the words came up on the karaoke screen.

"_No I can't forget this evening or your face as you were leaving, but I guess that's just the way the story goes. You always smile but in your eyes your sorrow shows. Yes, it shows,"_ he sang, a little timidly at first but then belting it out. _"No I can't forget tomorrow when I think of all my sorrow, when I had you there but then I let you go. And now it's only fair that I should let you know. I can't live if living is without you, I can't live, I can't give any more. I can't live, if living is without you, I can't give, I can't give any more."_

When the song was over the bar broke into loud applause. He smiled a little shyly and then got down from the stage as quickly as his feet would carry him. He returned to the bar and the woman recording him on his cellphone handed the device back to him with a wink before turning back to talk with her group of friends. Wilson could feel his face burning red.

The oncologist nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to stand face to face with the man in green. He inhaled suddenly. The other man extended a hand to Wilson.

"Hi," he said in a smooth bass voice, "I'm Shawn. And you are."

_Breathless_, Wilson thought, noticing that his eyes were in fact green. Immediately he felt the heat of his blood pooling in his lower abdomen and groin and his cock begin to tingle. This was really happening. He was really becoming aroused just standing next to the man who, by the way, smelled _incredible_.

"Uh, I mean, I'm James," He replied, taking Shawn's hand to shake it. The other man didn't release his grip right away.

"May I join you?" Shawn asked him, his eyes glancing at the stool to the left of Wilson. Nodding, the doctor sat down himself. Shawn sat down and called over the bartender, ordering a vodka tonic and then ordering another Cosmopolitan.

"Thank you," Wilson said to him, feeling awkward.

"You're welcome," was the response with a smile. "You sing very well. Do you do karaoke often? I don't believe I've seen you here before."

"I'm not from Atlantic City," Wilson answered, shaking his head and struggling to keep his voice from quavering.

"Ah. Are you here for business or pleasure?"

Their drinks arrived before the doctor could answer. "Uh, pleasure. I'm taking a little time off to recuperate from a stressful time at work and home. You?"

"I live here," Shawn told him. "I own a vintage album and book store not too far from here. What do you do that you need stress leave?"

Wilson drank from his glass and shrugged. "I'm a physician here in New Jersey. An oncologist."

The man in green nodded but Wilson had a feeling that he was interested in something more than conversation. He was eyeing him from head to toe with a hungry look in his eyes.

"Listen," Shawn said softly into Wilson's ear so as not to be drowned out by the current singer on stage. "I think it's pretty obvious that I'm attracted to you and I'm thinking you find me attractive as well. Why don't we leave and go back to my place?"

Wow, the oncologist thought to himself, he works fast. Wasn't this why he'd come, though? Wilson wasn't interested in forming any kind of real relationship. He wanted to see if his ability to be turned on by another man translated into actually being able to have sex with one. He wasn't naïve to the dangers of the one-night-stand scene, though.

"I have a better idea," Wilson told him, his heart pumping hard in his chest. "Why don't we head back to my hotel? It's five minutes from here."

Shawn tipped his head in agreement.

They left the bar. Shawn agreed to follow Wilson in his car. Once at his hotel they took the elevator up to his room. They were alone in the car. The other man immediately pushed Wilson against the wall of the elevator car and covered Wilson's mouth with his, kissing him passionately. Wilson's mind tried to tell him the same old things: you're not gay, this is disgusting, nobody will take a gay doctor seriously, you're breaking your mother's heart, and so forth. He forced those thoughts away and tried to simply be in the moment and focus only on the hardening of his cock, his tongue battling Shawn's for dominance, his hands roaming the other man's body wantonly.

The elevator arrived at Wilson's floor. They parted long enough to walk off the elevator and reach Wilson's room, but the door wasn't even shut behind them when they were at each other again. Wilson let himself go with the heat, the incredible arousal and sensations as they went at it like animals. There was no patience or gentleness or concern for mutuality. They both were at each other to take what they wanted and needed and somehow it worked out good for both.

Wilson had never been with a man and worried about the intercourse and the pain involved but it didn't become an issue because Shawn liked to bottom. Wilson located the condoms and lube he'd brought from home and gave one to the other man while he put on his own, barely pausing from mauling each other as he did. Fucking a man was nothing like he'd expected. It was _incredible! _Shawn sheathed him perfectly and he was so incredibly tight. The doctor didn't have to worry about watching his own strength or hurting his partner like he sometimes had to when with a woman. When they both came it was so much better than with any of the women he'd fucked in his life. His orgasm was so mind-blowing that he was just recovering from it when Shawn was already getting out of bed slowly.

"Hey," Wilson told him, "you don't have to go right away if you don't want—" He didn't get to finish his sentence because in a flash Shawn jumped on him and began to pound on his with his doubled fists to the face, the side of the head, the chest and abdomen. Caught off guard Wilson didn't have a chance to defend himself properly. He tried to duck from the agonizing assault and managed to roll off of the bed only to hit the floor on his side with a thud. The oncologist tried to push himself off of the floor with his arms but Shawn kicked viciously at them, knocking them out from under him. One kick hit his right arm just right and Wilson heard more than felt the humerus snap. That didn't last long, though, and he screamed in pain, grabbing at his broken arm as the other man continued to kick him sadistically in the chest, gut, groin, small of the back and head. Wilson blacked out.

After an indeterminate amount of time he woke up, dazed and confused and in more pain than he'd felt in a long time. His ribs shot intense pain to his spine when he tried to breathe deeply but he at least he _could_ breathe. He could feel moisture on his face. Wilson reached up to it with his still operational left hand and arm and touched a sore spot on the side of his head. Pulling his hand back and looking at it he saw that it was covered in blood; it took him several minutes to realize that the blood was his. Everything was foggy and his head hurt like a sonofabitch. He had a concussion, no doubt, cracked and possibly broken ribs on his right side and the rest of him felt like he was one giant deep tissue bruise.

He realized he was still on the floor beside the bed. His blood had stained the carpet with a pool of red six-inches in diameter. His wallet lay on the floor a few feet away. It had been emptied of the cash and credit cards. Wilson felt a hard object under his hip and a sharp jabbing sensation up higher. Painfully he rolled over onto his back crying out as his body protested with intense pain from pretty much everywhere. He was happy to see that the sharp jabbing had been due to his car keys, so at least those hadn't been taken. The hard object had been his cellphone. If he hadn't been covering it with his body it likely would have been stolen as well.

Wilson lay on the floor, too tired and weak and in pain to be able to do much of anything at all to help himself. He was in agony and he tasted blood; he'd bit his tongue and it bled fairly heavily. He turned his head to the side and spit out as much of the blood as he could. He tried to think about what to do next, but his brain wasn't cooperating in the focusing and concentrating departments. He felt like a goddamned fool. How could he have been stupid enough to bring a strange man back to his hotel room to have sex with him? Even the best sex of his life thus far didn't make up for the fact that he was injured fairly badly and could have ended up dead—in fact he still could.

Not that anyone would have noticed or cared. He had no one. That thought along with the traumatic experience and the agony he found himself in caused Wilson to begin to sob. He cried harder than he had since Amber died. When the sobs subsided he tried to reach his cellphone. After several tries he was finally able to do so. Clumsily he called for emergency help—an ambulance. His tongue was so swollen it was difficult to talk but somehow the dispatcher had understood him and sent the ambulance his way. She told him to stay on the line until help got there but Wilson needed to call House. Why, he didn't really know; it was like instinct. Wilson doubted that the diagnostician would even take his call after he had ignored his calls all day and evening. He pressed end on the dispatcher and then found House's number on speed dial. He hoped that the call went through. He felt so tired and weak and his head was spinning.

After a single ring the phone was picked up.

"Wilson!" House shouted. "Is that you? Where the fuck are you? I've been looking for you all day!"

Wilson smiled slightly. His friend sounded worried. He said he'd been trying to find him. Maybe, just maybe he cared. The oncologist forgot to answer so House began to shout again.

"Wilson, are you there? I can hear you breathing. Where are you? Are you okay?"

"House," Wilson lisped heavily over his swelling tongue, his voice weak and strained.

"Wilson! Wilson, what's wrong?"

The younger of the two doctors groaned softly involuntarily and nearly whispered. "Hurt, House. Beat up. Hurts to…breathe."

There was a brief moment of silence before the older doctor began to talk quickly into the phone. "What do you mean? Are you injured? Where are you? Damn it, Wilson! _Talk to me_. Where are you?"

He was fading fast. "Atlantic Ci…."

"Where? Atlantic? Atlantic City?" House tried to clarify. "Are you in your car? Was there a collision?"

Wilson felt too tired to form another word but he held onto everything spoken by his friend on the other end.

"Wilson?" House continued to say. "_Come on_, Jimmy, talk to me. Are you still there? _Jimmy_?"

**~H/W~**

"_Jimmy_?"

House had left Cuddy's bedroom and gone to the opposite side of the house to take the call. Now he shouted, not caring if he woke up his girlfriend, her daughter and the neighbors. His heart was stuck in his throat. It was Wilson and he sounded bad—hurt or sick, he wasn't certain which. His best friend had stopped talking which told the diagnostician that he likely couldn't talk because something was interfering with his ability to speak or he was unconscious. He wouldn't allow himself to entertain the possibility that Wilson may have just died on the phone with him. He felt absolutely powerless to do anything to help his friend and that made him wrathful.

_Oh god, Jimmy, please be alright!_

Continuing to say his name, House hoped that if Wilson was still conscious he would at least be able to hold onto his voice and understand what he was saying. "Listen to me Jimmy; I need you to focus on staying awake, okay? I'm going to find you and get you help. Have you been able to call for help yourself?"

There was a long pause and just when House was beginning to believe the man on the other end of the call was unconscious he heard a weak, breathy, "Yes."

House felt his heart start beating again. At least there was help coming for him wherever he was. The diagnostician just hoped they got to him in time.

"Can you tell me where in Atlantic City you are?"

Another pause, shorter than the last one, then, "Regency…5…3…7. Suite. Bedroom…on floor."

House committed this information to memory as he picked up Cuddy's landline and called the operator. He quickly gave her the name of the hotel as the Regency in Atlantic City and asked for the number. She gave it to him and then asked her to patch him through the emergency line for Atlantic City. Once he was through he gave them the information that he knew and requested an ambulance for a sick or wounded man in room 537 of the Regency Arms Hotel. They responded by telling him that there were already Police and an ambulance enroute, ETA two minutes. He hung up Cuddy's phone, then returned his attention back to his cell.

"Wilson, are you still there?" House asked, trying to hide his worry but unable to. He heard a grunt which he hoped was an acknowledgement and not just an involuntary vocalization coming from the oncologist.

"Jimmy," House told him softly, "it's going to be alright. Help will be there any minute now. Try to stay awake, okay? You can do it, you stubborn son of a bitch! I'm coming to Atlantic City. I'll be there as quickly as I can. Was Sam your medical proxy? Do I need to try and find her?"

"No-hhh. You…"

"I still am? Okay, good. Just stay on the line with me. I have to tell you something…something I should have told you a long time ago, but I was too afraid of losing my best friend. You need to know this but just remember it doesn't have to change anything. Okay? I'm good with being best friends, okay? Wilson?"

There was another grunt, weaker this time, from the man in Atlantic City.

House took this as his cue to continue, not wanting his best friend to die before he could tell him how he felt. "James, I need to tell you…that I'm in love with you. I have been for years, but it only became crystal clear to me in Mayfield. I…love…you, but I couldn't tell you because I didn't know how you would react to hearing that. Lisa is a distraction because I couldn't have you and I didn't want to be all alone. Did you hear me?"

"Yesss…" was the whisper soft reply.

House sighed heavily at the answer he received. He closed his eyes, picturing a dying Wilson in his mind. "Look, I know you're straight. I'm not. I've known I was bi since I first found hair on little Greg. Why do you think I harassed Thirteen like I did? I wanted to distract anyone from suspect me of being a switch hitter too. I've gravitated toward women because…because it's easier. Nobody wants to kick my head in if I'm screwing a woman. But…but I'm good with both. I know you don't feel the same for me…that you can't, but that's okay. As long as I know you're willing to be my friend, that's good enough. I want you in my life whether you're my lover or my best friend, although honestly, Jimmy, I want you as both. But I won't push you. Just promise me you won't desert me now that you know. Jimmy? Jimmy? Wilson! Wilson, are you there?"

"Hello?" It was an unfamiliar male voice came over the speaker. "Is somebody on this line?"

"Yes!" the diagnostician answered immediately. "Who are you? Is Wilson alright?" He wondered how much of his speech the stranger had heard, but regardless House hoped this was help speaking into Wilson's cellphone. "I'm his best friend."

"This is Officer Downey, Atlantic City Police," the voice answered promptly with an air of authority. "What is your name?"

"House—er, uh—Doctor Gregory House, the best friend of the owner of the cellphone you're talking into," House told him. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "His name is Dr. James Wilson. He's a physician who works and lives in the Princeton/Trenton region. I'm also his medical proxy. Can you tell me, is he alright?"

"The paramedics are working on him right now," Downey told him matter-of-factly. "He's appears to be semi-conscious at present."

"Wilson called me after he called for an ambulance, I think," House told him. "I'm in Princeton right now but I'll be on the road on my way there in a matter of a few minutes. Can you tell me what happened to him?"

"I'm afraid I can't," the cop told him. "We just got here ourselves and we don't release that information over the phone anyway. We have to finish our investigation before information, if any, is released."

"Can you at least tell me which hospital he's being taken to?" House demanded, growing impatient with the runaround.

There was a pause wherein House could hear voices speaking in the background and then the cop came back over the phone. "He's being taken to the trauma department at Atlanticare Regional Medical Center."

"Listen, I'm going to give you my cell phone number to give to the paramedic in charge," House told him, "so he can contact me if anything changes between now and the time I get there." He gave him the number and then pressed end on his phone. He turned to head to the bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks. Cuddy stood in his path a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest. Besides looking half-asleep her pretty face was drawn long with sadness and her brow was creased with anger.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked her, dreading the answer.

"Long enough," she said softly, her voice cold. "Well, at least now I know why you've been so anxious to find Wilson."

House sighed. He hadn't wanted to hurt her. That was the last thing he'd wanted. However, now that she knew he actually felt relieved. The secret was out and he didn't have to avoid, lie or equivocate any longer. The diagnostician had wanted to tell her in a better way than this then asked himself if there _was_ a better way, or a worse way for that matter. She was still angry and hurt. He'd betrayed her trust.

He took a step towards her but stopped the moment she held up a hand to signal that she didn't want him to come any closer.

"I wish I could say that I was shocked, dismayed, incredulous but I can't," she told him, keeping her volume down; there was a sharp edge to her voice. "Quite frankly, I've been expecting this for years. I'd would have had to have been a fool not to have seen the long looks between Wilson and you, the small touches of your shoulders or hands as you walked side by side down the corridor, the way you both kept coming back no matter how much one of you hurt or angered the other. I've seen you give him looks of such intense longing and desire that you've never given me. Just—why did you lead me on? Why didn't you tell me before we slept together again that you were in love with him, not me? Why did you tell me the day after that you loved me if you didn't?"

Looking at her with guilty blue eyes, he answered, "I knew that Wilson would never love me the same way I do him. I'd told myself that I had to accept that. And I _do_ love you."

"Just not as much as Wilson," she finished for him, shaking her head. "I gave up a reliable man who was _in_ love with me because he wasn't as exciting and unpredictable as you. You led me to believe that you wanted this to work—"

"I did want it to work," House responded quietly. "I really tried, but I did warn you."

Cuddy snorted derisively. "Yes…you did. Let me ask you a question, okay? Has something changed with Wilson that has led you to believe that he may return your feelings now?"

Nodding, he replied, "Someone who had spoken to him last night told me that he'd confessed to her that he was in love with me, but hadn't told me for the same reasons I hadn't told him until now. Sam was a—"

"_Distraction_?" Cuddy said bitterly, cutting in. "Yeah, I _get_ that. Maybe she knew too and that's why she turned down his proposal and left him."

"Could be," House conceded.

Cuddy nodded. "I'll contact HR tomorrow and let them know that our relationship is over."

"And that I'm fired?" House questioned apprehensively, sounding a tiny bit bitter himself.

The Dean of Medicine looked at him like she thought he was crazy. "Of course not. The ending of our personal relationship doesn't affect our professional one."

Silently House sighed in relief. He was anxious to get going, to get to Wilson. "I'm sorry, Lisa," he told her honestly.

She shook her head again and he wasn't certain whether that meant he shouldn't be sorry or that she wasn't going to accept his apology.

"Wilson's been badly hurt and he's being rushed to a trauma center in Atlantic City as we speak," he told her quickly.

"So go," she said. "You can pick up your things when you get back."

He was genuinely grateful that she was taking it as well as she was; House knew Cuddy had every right to be furious with him. Nodding at her he brushed past her on his way to her bedroom to get dressed.

Three minutes later House had his jacket on and held his helmet as he stepped out the front door.

"House," Cuddy said and he turned to look at her over his shoulder, "contact me…to let me know how he's doing?"

House gave her a soft look. She really was quite the woman. This was the Cuddy he used to know. He hoped she was back to stay. "Will do," he told her before hurrying to his motorcycle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: ****The Other Foot, Pt. 4 of 5**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Word Count:** 5353

**Pairings/Characters:** House/Wilson preslash-UST/possible slash; House/Cuddy, mention of Wilson/Sam.

**Category(ies):** Angst, Drama, Romance.

**Rating: NC-17/M**

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all episodes up to and including 7x8. Coarse language including F-bombs, drug and alcohol use and explicit sexuality. Reader discretion is strongly encouraged.

**A/N:** This is a post-episode response to the episode 7x8 "Small Sacrifices". It picks up immediately after the last scene.

**~H/W~**

When House arrived at the hospital in Atlantic City where Wilson had been taken he inquired about where he could find him at the Emergency Room reception desk. It had been hours since Wilson's phone call and House doubted that he was still in the ER but it was after midnight and all other modes of access into the hospital were closed until seven the next morning. When asked what his relationship was to the patient House replied that he was his best friend and medical proxy. That made the receptionist move a little more quickly. She told him Wilson's room number which was located in the ICU and then gave House directions how to get there, telling him to report in at the nurse's desk when he arrived.

He didn't even bother asking the receptionist what Wilson's status was because she would have no idea anyway and he'd already wasted too much time with her. He limped as quickly as his gimp leg and cane could carry him to the elevators. When the car arrived a sole nurse stepped off of the car as he climbed on and punched the third floor button with his cane. As the elevator rose he tapped his cane nervously against the floor. He had no idea whether Wilson was going to be okay or not but the fact that he was in the ICU indicated that things couldn't be good.

He stepped off of the elevator on the third floor and followed the instructions of the receptionist and the signs on the walls to find ICU. His stomach had a knot in the size of both fists. He went up to the nursing desk and a male nurse in his mid-forties wearing an ID tag with the name Stu on it looked up from his paperwork.

"Can I help you?"

House responded curtly. "I'm Dr. Gregory House. I was told that I could find my friend here. Dr. James Wilson. I hold his medical proxy." He knew that would grease the wheels here as well as they did downstairs.

"Oh, yes, Dr. House," Stu said with a nod and rising to his feet and stepping out from behind the desk. "I'm Dr. Wilson's nurse, Stu. Follow me."

House followed the other man down a corridor and into a large area broken down into small cubicles, each of these containing a bed. Most had curtains drawn to give the patients a modicum of privacy. It looked positively primitive compared to the ICU set up at PPTH. He hoped that the skills of the staff here were more advanced than the environment. He immediately knew he wanted to have Wilson transferred back to Princeton as soon as possible. Stu led him to one of the cubicles and pulled back the curtain.

He'd expected to see his best friend intubated and on a respirator, unconscious and on the cusp of death. Instead he found Wilson awake with only a nasal cannula taped to his face supplying him with supplemental oxygen. He was hooked up to a bag of saline and his head was wrapped with a white bandage. He was covered from head to toe in bruises but the worst of the visible trauma was to his face, which was swollen just shy of the point of being grotesquely unrecognizable and was one mass of blue, purple and black, and to his right arm, which was casted betraying the fact that the humerus had been fractured. His nose had been broken and set back into place and taped, cuts and abrasions were bandaged; his bottom lip had been split and had required stitches. Wilson's hands and arms were covered in scratches and bruises, mostly defensive in nature.

As soon as House had entered the cubicle with the nurse the oncologist had turned his face away from them. House could see the shame oozing out of his best friends pores. Just the sight of Wilson looking that way made House both sick to the stomach and furious at heart.

"Dr. Wilson," Stu said to him, "Dr. House has arrived."

Rolling his eyes House shook his head. "Thank you, Nurse Obvious," he sniped. "Tell his doctor I want a complete rundown of his condition and access to his chart immediately."

Stu exhaled in disgust and left the cubicle. House moved to stand closer to the bed. Wilson turned his body away from him, groaning in pain as he did.

"So are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or do I have to torture you to get the information?" the diagnostician asked him quietly, an edge of concern honed with anger in his tone.

Wilson said nothing, not reacting in any way. House sighed. His friend was an extremely stubborn man and he could hold a grudge for ages. His record for the silent treatment was nine days and six hours. This was different from a simple argument, though. House had sped the entire way from Princeton to Atlantic City like a plane flying very low to the ground. He'd envisioned his friend dying a hundred deaths in a hundred grotesque and horrible ways the entire drive. The entire time he did nothing but berate himself for hurting his friend enough to make him run away again. He needed Wilson to talk to him, even if it was only to tell him to fuck off. House needed to hear his voice.

"I get the part about you being beaten to a pulp," he told the oncologist, still trying to use sarcasm to hide his fear. "I told you not to talk back to those old ladies who try to grope you. See what happens when you don't listen to me?" When sarcasm didn't work he decided to go with his feelings. Wilson was a sucker for sharing emotions and talking about hurts. He was an emotional vampire—emotions were to him what blood was to Nosferatu.

House located a stool and pulled it over next to the bed. He had to sit down before his leg gave out on him.

"Look…I was a jerk," House told him. "I should have called Lisa and postponed our evening so I could be there for you. I was thinking with Little Greg again. If it makes you feel any better, Little Greg didn't perform so well that evening and I couldn't sleep."

There was a sigh from the younger man, but he didn't move his position on the bed an iota.

"It…kinda does," House heard Wilson mutter, but due to his swollen lips and possible bitten tongue it was difficult to make out what he said.

Nodding, House looked around the cubicle, looking for the right words to say that would get Wilson talking to him again. Unfortunately the older man was not King Darius; there was no disembodied hand writing messages for him on the hospital wall.

"I was…concerned about you when I realized you'd run away," the diagnostician told him.

"I didn't run away," Wilson slurred. "I just took a break. I needed time to think."

Exhaling in exasperation, House asked, "Wilson, could you roll over to face me? I can barely understand a word you're saying!"

He watched as Wilson hesitated a moment and the reluctantly began to roll over. House could see the strain and pain on his face as he moved and was tempted to help him but restrained himself. What the hell had happened to him? After a long minute Wilson was on his back again, staring up at the ceiling rather than in House's direction. Again there seemed to be an air of guilt or shame surrounding the younger man—but why?

"Better?" Wilson asked him caustically.

"Yeah," House told him honestly. He sighed. "Look, I didn't come here to argue. I came here because after your phone call I didn't know whether or not you were dying and I was scared. I wanted to tell that I've never stopped caring about you and I'll always need you—and if you tell anyone that I'm telling you this I'll fracture those ribs, if any, that you haven't had cracked or broken. That was a joke, Wilson."

Wilson turned his head to look at him. His rich brown eyes were filled with sadness. "There's nothing funny about this, House. My life being turned inside out is no joke. Nor is having you mock me by telling me that you're in love with me while I'm lying in a pile on a hotel room floor. How'd you know, anyway?"

House was genuinely confused. "Know what, Wilson? I have no idea what you're talking about and I wasn't mocking you!"

"Please, House," Wilson said, his voice hitching. "This isn't funny."

"What isn't? Damn it, I don't know what the hell is going on! I need to fill me in."

Looking at him with a baffled expression, Wilson said, "Wait—you mean, you didn't talk to the police?"

Shaking his head House replied, "What police? The only cop I've spoken to was the one in your hotel room with your cellphone who told me that the ambulance was bringing you here."

His eyes darting back and forth as he worked this out in his battered brain, Wilson responded, "So you really don't know what happened or why?"

"No," House snapped impatiently, "I don't. Now stop with all the mumbo jumbo and tell me what the hell is going on!"

But Wilson wasn't ready yet to spill. He was still thinking out loud. "So when you told me you love me…you were telling the _truth_?"

House slumped on the stool and absently rubbed at his ruined thigh. "_Yes_. I was," he agreed tiredly. "Why the fuck would I lie to you about something like that and risk losing you as my friend if it wasn't true?" He wished his best friend would just answer his questions and tell him what it was he'd needed to leave town to think about and how he ended up beaten up and lying in a hospital. "Tell me what's going on!"

Wilson looked away from him again, appearing to be apprehensive. House wondered if the oncologist was preparing himself to tell House he was a sick fuck and to get out of his room and his life. His anxiety made him feel sick.

"I came here because I was hurt that you put Cuddy ahead of me right after Sam left me—again," Wilson told him quietly. "I figured that now that you love her you have no need for me in your life anymore. That…that hurt so much more than Sam's leaving did. I began to evaluate my feelings for you and as I did I saw a pattern developing that I couldn't ignore."

In fascination, House leaned slightly towards the younger man as he listened. "What pattern are you talking about?"

Taking a moment to string his thoughts together, Wilson then replied, "I've had three marriages fail because after I finished saving my wives they no longer held any more interest for me. I even found the sex becoming a chore, something I did out of obligation and habit more than anything else. These were beautiful, sexy, good women and I found myself no longer aroused by them. So I cheated, if not physically then emotionally and thereby drove them away. And each time you were the one I turned to. In the back of my mind I knew that it was odd that I felt more complete around you than I ever did with them. I would find that our friendship would deepen with each divorce, but as soon as things became perhaps a little too close between us I would feel the need to find another woman and then pull away from you. It was a compulsion, House. I had to do it but I never asked myself why because in the back of my mind I knew the answer and I didn't like it, I was afraid of it. So, I denied it and continued in the same cycle with another girlfriend.

I found myself losing interest in Sam, too, but I didn't want this second chance with her to go the same route as the first time around. So I told myself everything was okay, that we were happy. But we weren't. Not really. From the moment she contacted me on Facebook I knew in that same space in the back of my mind that we weren't going to work, but I desperately needed us to so I ignored it and jumped into a relationship with her head first without checking how deep the water was."

"But, why did you desperately need to be with Sam if you sensed it wasn't a good idea?" House demanded. This was all news to him. He'd been convinced that Wilson had been certain about what he was doing and was in fact deeply in love with Sam again. Her presence in Wilson's life had caused a rift between the two of them and a huge amount of pain for the diagnostician, being kicked out of the loft just when things between he and Wilson were better than ever and being forced to accept that Wilson would never love him the way he loved Wilson.

The younger man sighed and met his gaze. "I had to convince myself that I was the man I'd always told myself I was instead of the man I really am and was beginning to discover again. Only another woman in my life could do it. Don't you understand what I'm telling you?"

House wasn't certain. He suspected he knew where Wilson was going with this but he didn't want to make the assumption and end up being wrong and disappointed.

"I'm not sure," he admitted honestly. "All I knew what that things were going better between us than they had since before Tritter. Living with you in the loft was the closest thing I'd ever had to a normal home life in my fifty years of existing. I knew I was in love with you…funny. I had to force that word out of my mouth to pacify Cuddy, but it comes so easily saying it to you. Anyway, there were moments when I thought…well, I thought that you possibly felt the same way for me. Like the night you surprised me with the organ. I thought, no one gives you an expensive gift like that, a gift that says as much about you as it does him, a gift that says this is your home too, who doesn't have stronger feelings than platonic fondness for you. The way you looked at me…Jesus, Wilson, it was the sexiest eyefuck I've ever experienced. I was so close to following you into your bedroom because I was convinced that you wanted me as much I wanted you. It's a good thing I didn't though, because it wasn't long after that that you started dating Sam."

"Exactly, House!" Wilson agreed with a nod. "It was almost immediately after that that I took up with a woman but not just any woman—it was my ex-wife! Anyone with half a brain knows that's a recipe for failure. Think about it, House. You're so close to getting it!"

House thought through what he'd just been told. He met Wilson right as his first marriage to Sam was falling apart and they were almost instantly best friends. They did everything together. Then came Bonnie to conveniently distract Wilson from him. House met Stacy and they were together for a while then the infarction. Stacy ditched him but Wilson was there to help him through it and survive his recovery. House easily saw more of the oncologist than his wife did. Wilson cheated on Bonnie and she divorced him. House and Wilson grew closer again and then along came Julie, right on schedule. The cycle repeated itself but with a twist. Lonely Julie retaliated with an affair of her own and a hurt Wilson left _her_—and then came straight back to House for comfort and a couch to sleep on. The cycle occurred again with Grace; after Grace there was Cutthroat Bitch, but Amber was different. Wilson seemed to genuinely like her. Amber wasn't nearly as needy as the others yet Wilson remained interested and engaged in the relationship, probably because she and House were so much alike.

House was terrified that this time he would actually lose his best friend for good. The only thing that prevented that was Amber's death, a death House literally risked his life to prevent but couldn't. It had nearly destroyed his friendship with Wilson, but as it turned out Wilson had needed House as much as House had needed him and they had reconciled. Enter House's drug-induced psychosis, exit House to Mayfield and then House was released, a sober man, required to live with someone else; he moved in with Wilson. House had admitted to himself how much he loved his best friend but feared losing him should he find out. Then Wilson began showing definite signs of mutual attraction, leading House to hope that perhaps his greatest desire would actually come true. Suddenly a bucket of cold water had been thrown into his face as Sam suddenly appeared out of nowhere dashing his hopes; she served as Wilson's latest distraction…

"Distraction," House whispered out loud as the puzzle pieces fall into place. He looked at Wilson, his face brightening with illumination. The oncologist nods.

"_You_ were in love with _me_," House declared in wonder. "But you couldn't admit to yourself that you weren't as straight as a pin so every time you found yourself experiencing your feelings for me you ran away in denial to the waiting arms of another woman. But you can't make relationships with women work for long because you're-"

"Gay," Wilson finished for him, his voice barely more than a whisper. He looked away from his best friend. "I think I've always known…but a good Jewish man who is a professional and doesn't want to disappoint his parents can't be gay. So I convinced myself that I was wrong about liking other men instead of women and behaved accordingly. I probably would have managed to keep up the façade indefinitely if I hadn't gotten myself arrested in a bar in New Orleans where a certain bored, irascible, rebellious and utterly fascinating young genius decided to bail me out of jail and take me drinking."

"Sorry," House lied, not even trying to sound like he was. A smirk crossed Wilson's swollen, split and stitched lips.

"I'm not," he said simply. "When you began sleeping with Lisa I didn't want to believe it so I denied it at first. After she grabbed your nuts and bolt in my office and I couldn't deny it I became very, very jealous. I hated every single time you came to me for advice on how to make your relationship with her work but I helped you because you're my best friend and I wanted you to be happy. I still do. I tried to get past my feelings by pouring myself into my relationship with Sam, leading to that ill-fated proposal. When you pushed me away in favor of Cuddy, I couldn't deny how much I…love you. But I still had to be certain I wasn't just mixing things up. I had to _prove_ to myself that I was, in fact, gay. That's how I ended up here."

House shook his head. This was almost too much to take in at one time. All of the things he thought he knew about Wilson after nearly twenty years were now out the window and a new 'Wilsonian' paradigm was being thrust upon him. The younger man had just told him that he loved him, too, but to get there he'd also told House that he was gay, nothing House had, in a million years, expected to hear him say. And what was this about proving it to himself and that being what landed him in the hospital?

"What did you do to prove it to yourself?" House asked him, shaking his head.

"Promise you won't start yelling?" Wilson asked him oddly. "There are other patients here to think about."

"Who cares?" House responded, frustrated. "Just tell me what the hell happened!"

Wilson sighed, closing his eyes. He appeared exhausted and obviously in pain. As soon as he finished relating what happened House was going to make certain someone brought him something more that what he had already received for the pain.

Opening his eyes again the oncologist began to explain. "I decided to see if I could actually do it with a guy without chickening out or being disgusted. I had to know for certain for me, for my own sanity. So I went to a gay bar…to pick someone up, go back to my hotel and…"

"Fuck him," House finished for him coldly. This was unbelievable. After waiting so many years to be with Wilson sexually House pushed him away so he could screw a woman whom he barely cared about in comparison; as a result Wilson proceeded to lose his 'homosexual virginity', as it were, with some stranger. The two of them belonged together, House decided—both Wilson and he were fucking idiots.

"Y-yes," the younger man confirmed, nodding. "After I sang karaoke he approached me—"

"Wait," House said, cutting him off, "you sang karaoke? Were you drunk?"

Wilson frowned both at being cut off and at his friend's mockery. "Yes, I did. I _like_ karaoke, House, I just never participate in it around you because I'm not fond of being heckled and humiliated by you. No, I wasn't drunk. I can't…function…if I'm drunk. Anyway, there was this one very attractive guy who kept giving me flirtatious looks and he came over, we talked a bit and then we went back to my room and…and had sex. I was not only able to go through with it but…but it was some of the best sex I've had. The next thing I knew though he was crawling out of bed then turned around, jumped on me and began to beat the shit out of me. He caught me off guard, I tried to dodge his punches, and fell onto the floor, on top of my cellphone and car keys. He proceeded to try to kick my ribs in, grabbed my wallet, took my money and credit cards, and fled. I could barely think clearly enough to call the emergency dispatch, then you."

House rose from the stool without a word and started for the curtain. He stopped just short of it and turned around. He was confused and there were waves of conflicting emotions threatening to drown him. He wanted to flee the cubicle, scream and swear a blue streak, walk up to Wilson and shake some sense into him, and kiss him, holding him close—all at the same time. Instead he stared at the oncologist lying in that bed, all battered and broken, looking completely vulnerable and felt jealousy at the fact that Wilson's first experience with a male was with someone other than him, someone who brutalized this man that he loved more than life itself. He felt fear at what had happened and what could have happened and finally he felt guilty for not being there for his best friend when he needed him the most.

He felt his eyes tearing up and tried to blink them back but couldn't. He clenched and unclenched his hand around his cane handle.

Clearing his throat House said as calmly as he could. "Did you at least think to use a condom, or should the doctor here run an STI screen and prescribe anti-virals?"

Looking up in surprise at House's controlled reaction Wilson nodded his head. "I used a condom."

House nodded in acknowledgement. He shifted his jaw and blinked some more but the tears were determined and one escaped his eyes, sliding down the right side of his face.

"Well, at least there's that, then," House commented softly. His voice broke a little on the last word. The younger man's expression was one of guilt and concern.

"House, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" House repeated almost instantly and shook his head. "Do you realize that I could have lost—that you could have been…? Do you know how fucking stupid that was to do?"

Wilson said nothing to that but turned his head away in shame. House was silent as well. He didn't trust himself to speak just then; he knew he'd either say something completely stupid that would end up hurting them both or he would begin to cry, which he simply couldn't allow to happen in front of anyone, if at all. He already was embarrassed by the fact that there were tears running down his face. He turned around to face the curtain and tried to get a hold of himself. He wasn't certain how long he stood there like that before he heard Wilson make a noise that sounded a lot like sniffling. Reluctantly House turned around to face him. He saw his best friend covering his eyes with his right arm in an attempt to hide the fact that he was sobbing.

That was more than House could take. He nearly ran out of Wilson's cubicle, which was impressive considering his leg was aching badly. He brushed past Nurse Stu and a doctor as he limped as quickly as he could out of the ICU, desperately seeking out a private place where he could break down. All he could see was a washroom nearby. He headed for that. Fortunately for him it was the middle of the night and it was empty. He went to the farthest end of the washroom and slid down the wall in a corner, ignoring the protest of his ruined thigh. Landing on his ass he pulled his left leg up close to his body, covered his face and began to sob hard. He cried so hard that his entire body bucked and shook with it and his stomach felt like it was knotting up completely.

It was a catharsis—all of the years of frustration and disappointment, his fear of losing his best friend, the self-denial, the loss, the terror of riding at night to Atlantic City not knowing if the love of his life would still be alive when he got there, the guilt of hurting Cuddy but mostly of hurting Wilson by kicking him out of his apartment and precipitating all of this coming out of his system at once.

When there were no more tears to be shed House found himself exhausted. So tired was he that he knew he would fall asleep right there in the men's room if he didn't get up right away. Sleeping on the cold, hard tile like that would only leave him crippled up the next day. He forced himself to his feet using the wall and his cane for support. Once he was up he moved stiffly to a sink, splashed some water onto his face and dried it with paper towels. Then he made his way to the ICU visitor's lounge, which was occupied by a woman who had fallen asleep in a chair. House didn't buy into the idea of chivalry so he went for the couch and laid himself out on it. He fell asleep almost instantly.

**~H/W~**

House was awakened by Wilson's attending physician. The diagnostician started and was instantly awake. He hadn't intended to fall asleep like he had. He checked his watch—he'd been asleep for a little over two hours. Damnit! He wondered what Wilson must be thinking! The younger man had confessed some pretty heavy stuff only to have him leave the room and not come back. He had to get back to Wilson but first he needed to question the doctor about Wilson's condition.

"Dr. House?" the attending asked to him. The other man was blond, in his late thirties, early forties with black thick-rimmed glasses and ubiquitous suit.

"Who's asking?" he demanded warily, sitting up and wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his thigh at the sudden movement, followed by a level 4 ache. He did his best to ignore it.

"I'm Dr. Wilson's attending physician, Dr Woolsey," was the reply.

"In that case I'm House," he told the other doctor with a nod. "How is he doing?"

"Actually, he's doing quite well—well enough, in fact, that we are going to move him to the ward in a few minutes," Woolsey told him matter-of-factly. "We have a problem, however."

"What's that?" House frowned, growing concerned. "Complications with the head injury?"

"No, but the head injury is the issue," House was told. "Dr. Wilson suffers from a second-degree concussion, three broken and two fractured ribs, a bruised liver, a fractured humerus and extensive cuts and contusions. He should remain at least one more day in hospital for observation but right now he's insisting that he be discharged AMA. He pulled out his IV and catheter, removed his leads and is demanding his personal property and the necessary forms. He said something about needing to find his best friend."

House sighed and stood up, wincing and grabbing his thigh. "That idiot," he growled. "I'll deal with it."

He made his way to Wilson's cubicle as quickly as he could. Whipping the curtain open he found Wilson pulling on a pair of twills that had been donated to the hospital for patients whose clothes were destroyed before or upon arrival at the ER. He was swaying on his feet as he did it. Upon hearing the curtain open the oncologist looked up and appeared surprised to see the diagnostician standing there.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" House demanded.

"I thought you'd gone back to Princeton," Wilson told him, his entire body appearing to relax upon seeing him. "I needed to talk to you to find out if…if our friendship was over."

Looking at him incredulously, House was speechless; their friendship—over? How could he even suggest such a stupid notion? House's life was so dependent upon Wilson that he couldn't imagine ever wanting to end his friendship with him.

Unable to say anything to that, House closed the distance between them; he wrapped his arms gently around his waist—so as not to hurt him—and carefully kissed his best friend on his swollen lips. He really simply dusted Wilson's mouth with his own, again not wanting to cause him any more pain than he'd already experienced. It was the other man that pulled House closer and deepened the kiss a little more. He even pressed his tongue against House's teeth and the older man allowed him access to his mouth.

House felt his heart soar. He'd dreamt of this moment many times—their first kiss—but he'd never imagined it would be in an ICU cubicle holding a battered Wilson in his arms. Life was fucked up but sometimes there were moments that weren't bad at all. Sometimes, they were even great.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: ****The Other Foot, Pt. 5 of 5**

**Author:** pgrabia

**Word Count:** 7912

**Pairings/Characters:** House/Wilson preslash-UST/possible slash; House/Cuddy, mention of Wilson/Sam.

**Category(ies):** Angst, Drama, Romance.

**Rating: NC-17/M**

**Warnings:** Spoilers for all episodes up to and including 7x8. Coarse language including F-bombs, drug and alcohol use and explicit sexuality. Reader discretion is strongly encouraged.

**A/N:** This is a post-episode response to the episode 7x8 "Small Sacrifices". It picks up immediately after the last scene.

**~H/W~**

The door to Wilson's loft apartment opened and Wilson led the way into the foyer dragging his suitcase with his one good arm. House followed closely behind him carrying his shoulder bag into the master bedroom where he unceremoniously dropped it onto the bed and then sat down next to it. He watched as the younger man struggled unsuccessfully to lift his suitcase onto the bed where he could unpack it. After watching him grow increasingly frustrated the diagnostician sighed in exasperation.

"Need some help?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Wilson looked at him, annoyed.

"No," he responded sardonically, "I'll just continue to struggle fruitlessly until I exhaust myself and pass out. Thanks for asking, though."

"No problem," House told him with a shrug. He stood up and limped out into the living room, half-expecting the oncologist to yell after him. When Wilson didn't he felt a little guilty. Of course, he knew that was Wilson's passive-aggressive way of manipulating him into helping after all, but it wasn't going to work. He was wise to his best friend's attempts to use psychology against him. House sat down on the sofa, picked up the remote control for the TV, and turned it on. He channel surfed for a while, still waiting for some sign from Wilson but one never came.

After fifteen minutes House's curiosity got the better of him and he returned to the master bedroom to find Wilson sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to him, talking into his cellphone (which he'd retrieved from the police before returning to Princeton. They had rented a motorcycle trailer to bring House's bike back with them. House had driven Wilson's car since the latter's broken arm made it next to impossible for him to shift gears). He knew it was probably a violation of Wilson's privacy to listen in but he did anyway.

"No…no, House didn't tell me," Wilson said softly, holding the phone to his ear with his left hand. House's ears caught his name and he listened even more closely. Who was he talking to?

"I didn't ask him to come," Wilson said after a pause during which the person on the other end of the transmission spoke. "…Well, to be honest it's a little foggy—I sustained a second degree concussion…I believe I called to tell him how I felt in case I didn't make it…It's a long story. Let's just say I was beaten up by a psychotic individual…the attack caught me by surprise…I wasn't thinking about that at the time. All I knew was that I was afraid that I was going to die and I needed to tell him the truth…yes, I am in love with him, Lisa."

House rolled his eyes. He was talking to Cuddy. Had Wilson called her or had she called him? The older man hadn't heard Wilson's cellphone ring, but then again he had had the TV volume relatively high. Was she chewing Wilson out for his and her break-up? If so he had a few choice words for her!

"It's no joke…Well, actually, I'm…but I'm _not_ straight…Yes and every relationship I've had with a woman, except for Amber, failed…Of course it was my fault, that's what I was saying…Lisa, I'm gay. I've been running from that fact for most of my life and it took Sam leaving me for the second time for me to wake up and quit living the lie…No. When House was staying with me after Mayfield nothing went on between us. I was still in denial…It doesn't work that way, Lisa and you know it. I didn't just suddenly choose to be homosexual. It's always been a part of who I am…Whoa, whoa there! Wait a minute, let me get this straight. You're saying that you believe I set out to seduce House away from you in retaliation for what Lucas did to the loft and that's the only reason I could possibly be in love with him? Wow, do you really think that little of him? I mean, if you think the only reason I could be in love with House is to seek revenge on you…Wow, you really are a complete narcissist, aren't you? Believe it or not, not everything is about you…I fell in love with him years ago, Lisa…I didn't say anything until now because…Wait…Wait…No, no…Lisa, with you shut up for a second so I can get a word in edgewise, please?...Well, I love him for him, not for who I want to mold him into being. In my opinion he's fantastic just the way he is! It's unfortunate that you don't feel the same way…When you add up the time actually spent interacting with him, not the years starting from the moment you met him, then had nothing to do him and then hired him on at Plainsboro, hands down I've known him longer than you and more importantly I know more about the real House than he ever revealed to you, I guarantee it."

House nodded. It was true—Wilson didn't know everything about him and probably never would but he definitely knew more about the diagnostician than anyone else, Cuddy included. He wanted to intercede for Wilson and instruct his ex-girlfriend where she could shove her accusations but Wilson seemed to be handling it okay and this way neither of them shut down. He could learn a lot more this way.

"Really?" Wilson said, snorting in derision. "Well I know that when he apologized to you for lying about his Hep C patient he was lying about being sorry…Why? Because he wanted to fuck you, that's why. You cut him off for a week to manipulate him into bowing and scraping to you again. He figured you were incapable of being reasonable and was horny so he apologized when he didn't mean it just to sleep with you…Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying—your relationship was based solely on sex and manipulation. He was constantly coming to me for advice on how he could please you because nothing he did ever seemed to be good enough for you…That's where the narcissism comes in…House and I have been a couple for twenty years, Lisa. We're just improving upon it with adding the sex…Wait, you're judging him?...Well, yes, after all, you're the perfect example of taste…I mean it was perfectly appropriate of you to accept Lucas's proposal in the morning and then come home after work and announce that not only were you not going to marry him after all but you were _leaving_ him right there and then to go sleep with his rival, a man you've told him you had no feelings for anymore. I'd say that was rather tasteless…I'm sorry you feel that way, Lisa…Okay, _Doctor_ Cuddy, then, and yes, I'm aware that you're my boss but we're not at work…it was never my intention to break you and House up and I never wanted to hurt you. That being said I won't apologize for loving House and I won't stop just to please you…well, I guess that's up to House and I now…That's really none of your business…You'll what?...You've got to be kidding me! I was owed this last week off and as it turned out I spent most of it in hospital…I followed procedure by going to Human Resources…you haven't got a case, Cuddy and quite frankly I thought you were above this kind of behavior…You _told_ him to go to Atlantic City…you try to fire him for missing work and I'll go to the board and tell them about how you did absolutely nothing about your boyfriend pulling destructive pranks on two of your doctors and how you ignored the fact that Lucas tripped House in a room full of witnesses but the police were never called…it was assault causing bodily harm, Cuddy. He would have seen jail time. Instead of looking out for the safety of your staff and avoiding a potential lawsuit against the hospital you failed to ban your crazy boyfriend from the hospital like you would have anyone else…Uh huh…House told me you were taking this well, with a lot of grace. I guess he's not the only liar…Fine. Good-bye."

Wilson pressed end on his phone then threw it into the pillows in disgust and exhaled loudly. He didn't hear House approach him from behind until he was right there sitting behind him, wrapping his arms gingerly around him. The older man kissed the side of the younger's neck. Wilson let his head fall back against House's shoulder.

"Mmm," the oncologist hummed with a smile, closing his eyes and enjoying the kisses and nips his best friend was placing up and down his neck and jaw. "That's _nice_…how much of the conversation did you hear?"

Sighing, House rested his chin lightly on the other man's shoulder. "Most of it, I think," he admitted softly. "Who called whom?"

"She'd left a message on my Voicemail, telling me to call her," Wilson answered, "so I did. Actually, it went better than I had anticipated. Thanks to Lucas she can't fire either one of us without being called to task herself."

"She threatened to fire us?" House asked, shaking his head in disgust. "Cuddy told me that she wasn't going to fire me because she had no plans to allow our personal issues to interfere with our professional lives. She's playing games with us, telling us two entirely different stories. She's up to something."

"Divide and conquer?" Wilson suggested, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling.

"Maybe," the diagnostician answered, shrugging his free shoulder. "I think we're going to have to be careful. Never believe what she says, no matter what it is, until we've checked with each other. If she does try to cause us trouble she'll have no problem with using other people and situations under her power to do it."

Wilson lifted his head off of House's shoulder and turned his body around to face him. He cupped the older man's cheek and caressed his cheekbone with his thumb. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment.

"So, if she claims I'm cheating on you, don't take her word for it before talking to me." Wilson murmured.

House laid his hand over Wilson's and kissed his palm. "Right, and if you're walking past my office and she decides to force a kiss on me so that you'll see it, don't assume I wanted it to happen before asking me. She'll use our weaknesses against us if we let her. Believe me, Wilson, after hearing your side of that conversation there's no way I'll ever want to kiss her mouth again, no matter how much cleavage she shoves into my face. If I quit wanting to be with you, which will never happen, I'll tell you to your face."

"I don't want anyone else but you," Wilson assured him. "I know what to expect from you and I have no delusions about who you are, but I love you anyway. Besides, I'll always feel needed with you."

"Thanks, I think," was the reply. House placed his hand on the back of Wilson's neck and pulled him into a gentle, loving kiss. He couldn't wait until Wilson was all healed up and he could pour every ounce of his strength and energy into showing him how passionately he loved him. Until then, everything was gentle and slow. He'd waited this long—he could wait a few weeks more to have his best friend completely.

After the kiss Wilson yawned. "I know it's early but I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to take a T3 and go to bed."

House nodded in understanding. The body needed a lot of sleep as it set to work on healing. He pressed a kiss to the younger man's forehead and rose from the bed, grabbing his cane from where he'd left it leaning against the bed.

"See you tomorrow," he told Wilson. "I'll let myself out and lock up behind me." He kissed him softly again then started for the door.

"Wait!" Wilson called to him in protest. "Stop! Where are you going?"

House turned to look back at him. "Home. Where else would I be going?"

"I don't want you to go," Wilson told him. "I want you to stay here in my bed. _Our_ bed. With me. I want to feel you close to me when I sleep. Every night."

"You mean," House inquired, "you want me to spend my nights here with you?"

Smiling the crooked smile House found absolutely irresistible, Wilson nodded, saying, "Yeah…but not just the nights. I want you to move back _home_. I shouldn't have made you leave in the first place. I forgot that I bought this place for _us_. Will you stay?"

House looked at him for a long moment, uncertain what he should do. He now knew and believed that Wilson was in love with him but he worried about going too fast, of moving back just to have something go wrong again. Then again, was living together as lovers taking it too fast when they had been wooing each other, albeit unknowingly, for so many years? Or was this the natural progression of their nearly twenty-year long relationship and it was something way overdo? He did want to be with Wilson every moment he possibly could—and that was nothing new. He was absolutely obsessed with the younger man and there was nothing new about that either. He wanted to tell the whole world that he was in love with James Wilson and was likewise loved in return.

"A couple of conditions have to be set in place first," House told him seriously, blue eyes gazing into brown. He sat back down on the bed.

"What are they?" the oncologist asked.

"First of all, this isn't some kind of fuck-buddy arrangement," House told him cautiously. "I don't just want to have sex with you and have everything else remain the same. I want…I _need _the relationship, the exclusivity. I love you and I want to be with you for as long as I live."

Wilson smiled, nodding. "I want that too."

House nodded and licked his lips nervously. "Also, I won't share you with anyone else. If we're going to be a couple there can be no one for us but each other. That's a deal breaker, Wilson."

"I know," Wilson told him. "I don't want anyone else and if I ever change mind—and I won't—I'll tell you before I screw around. House, after all this time, I'm not about to throw away what's most important to me—you."

Nodding in acknowledgement, House hoped the younger man meant that. "Finally," he said, "I don't want us to be a secret. I'm not ashamed of who I am and who I want to be with and I'm proud to let people know I've finally got you. If you can't be open about our relationship around others, then there won't be one. I don't want to be your dirty little secret."

"You just want to be able to grab my ass at work whenever you feel like it," Wilson accused him with a smile. "If you're willing to come out then…so am I. I'm scared but, you mean more to me than what others think about me. Besides, half the hospital has been convinced for years that we're lovers. I have two conditions of my own, though."

Frowning slightly and searching Wilson's face for clues the diagnostician asked, "What are they?"

A sly smile crossed the younger man's face. "Outside of work we call each other by our first names and nicknames only in bed."

Sighing, House nodded in agreement. "What's the second condition?"

"That you never drink directly out of the beverage containers again," Wilson told him. "That includes cartons of milk and orange juice. I'm _serious_ House! It's unsanitary!"

The older man tried to frown but couldn't. Instead he rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You're _so_ the girl in this relationship, Wilson—uh, I mean, Jimmy."

When Wilson began to protest, House shut him up by gently forcing him down onto the mattress; he carefully covered him with his body, and devoured the oncologist's words as he kissed him with red hot desire. The younger man sighed into his lover's mouth, wrapped his arm around him and returned the kiss with the same ferocity. This was the first night after Wilson's discharge from hospital and neither of them could wait any longer. Lovemaking would be like two porcupines trying not to prick each other but they didn't care. After years of yearning nothing was going to stand in their way now.

They continued to kiss and caress, taking it slowly, enjoying each other and overcoming the strangeness of being together and touching in such intimate ways after that being taboo for a very long time. House slowly undressed Wilson, being certain to kiss, suckle and caress each part of his body being exposed with the removal of each article of clothing being removed. Wilson relaxed and allowed himself to accept the ministrations at first a little reservedly but gradually greedily, hungrily. They both breathed heavily as their arousal grew and little moans and catches of breath came from both of them but mostly from the man receiving the attention.

House was exploring his best friend's body, memorizing every freckle, every pucker, every scar. He stored the salty taste of the younger man's skin, the feel of it on his lips, tongue and hands, the smell of his sweat and musk, the antiseptic body wash he used at the hospital, the sandalwood, citrus and spice of his cologne. He savored each moan, caught breath, and sigh Wilson emitted in his pleasure. House wanted both of them to remember this for the rest of their lives. Wilson squealed a little when House sucked on his toes, causing him to chuckle in amusement. _Ticklish feet—good to know_. Being the one giving was incredibly arousing for the older man. He could feel his own need becoming urgent but focused on Wilson's responses while trying to ignore his own.

Wilson's boxers were the last item of clothing to be removed, planned to be so. Of course, House had seen his best friend's junk before over the years: changing at the gym or golf-course, around the apartment as one of them went from the bathroom to their rooms or barging in while the other one was changing or at the hospital when Wilson was recovering from his living organ donation; but never like this. The oncologist was fully aroused. His penis was red and engorged and it nearly drove House crazy with desire. As with the rest of his body House began to apply kisses and licks to Wilson's hot, hard dick. The response was a deep-throated groan, panting and the bucking of his hips.

"Oh god, Greg!" Wilson gasped, the fingers on his good hand raking through House's graying chestnut hair. "I can't…believe this is happening!" His pelvis lifted towards the older man's mouth. "Oh, so good! Nnnng…!"

House moved to his lover's scrotum and took Wilson's testicles into his mouth, ever so gently sucking and rolling them with his tongue while at the same time slowly stroking his penis. The response he got from the younger man nearly pushed the diagnostician over the edge. Wilson was so incredibly hot when he was in the throes of passion.

Suddenly Wilson pushed himself up to a sitting position. "G-greg, uh ah…st-sto- op! God! I-I-I w-want…ohhh…you t-to…to…Greg s-stop!"

House immediately stopped what he was doing and practically froze. He Wilson changed his mind and didn't want this with him? Was he somehow hurting his best friend? He released Wilson's balls from his mouth and looked up at him with concern.

"W-What?" House said, stammering uncharacteristically. "Is something wrong?" _Please say there's nothing wrong!_

"I want you to be a part…a part of this…_with_ me," Wilson panted, looking at him with loving dark eyes and wanton lust on his face. "I want you to fuck me. Please."

Relief washed over House and he wanted that too but…

"What about your ribs, the bruising?" the older man asked, also puffing.

"We can be careful," Wilson told him. "When I cum I want it to be _with_ you. I want to…to give to you too."

Nodding and smiling genuinely, House began to remove his button-up, unbuttoning it only to the point where he could pull it up over his head and throw it away.

"Come here," Wilson insisted, gesturing with his fingers. "I want to do that!"

House complied, awkwardly crawling up to Wilson while favoring his right leg; as the oncologist sat up, his brown eyes watched him with unreserved desire. Wilson began to take over undressing his lover, caressing his bare skin.

"You're incredibly sexy," he told House. "I've often thought that when you've walked around without your shirt…in your boxers…" He gently pulled House's jeans off of his bad thigh. A flash of shame crossed House's eyes once his scar was exposed. Wilson wouldn't have any of that. He pulled House closer and kissed him deeply with a lot of tongue and a lot of neediness. When they broke he caressed House's cheek, staring deeply into his azure eyes. "I've seen your scar before. It doesn't bother me, don't let it bother you. I was there through the worst of it, remember. It reminds me of how incredibly strong and courageous you are. You fought back…I would have given up."

"I wouldn't have let you,' House whispered, "just like you wouldn't let me." They kissed some more and then Wilson finished undressing him.

"Holy fuck," Wilson said upon seeing House's fully erect cock, "You're going to kill me with that!"

"You talk too much," House growled impatiently, attacking Wilson's mouth and then his neck, biting the spot where his neck met his shoulder and sucking hard.

"What are you doing?" Wilson demanded, panting again.

"Leaving my mark," House whispered. "To let everyone who sees it know that you're mine and to back off." He admired the dark red bruise he'd left behind.

"What are you—an animal?"

"You better believe it," House answered with a feral grin.

"Thank God," Wilson muttered, attacking House's mouth. "I need you, Greg. I've never done it before but…I want to you to fuck me now."

"No," House told him, shaking his head and running his hands along the skin of Wilson's flanks and back ending on his ass which he fondled. "When you're healed up. Today, you top. You can control, do what is least painful."

"Whatever," his lover responded and then groaned, "as long as we do it now!"

So they did, positioning themselves so that they could see each other's face. Wilson had grabbed the tube of lubricant from the drawer of his bedside table and applied a generous amount to House's opening. The diagnostician led him through the process of preparing him; it had been a long time since he'd last been with a man. Once he was ready Wilson slowly sheathed himself inside his lover a little at a time and after a few thrusts entered him completely. House's face twisted with pain at first but then relaxed with each thrust, taking on the expression growing excitement. Wilson was moaning softly with each thrust, still taking it almost torturously slow and drawing almost completely out before thrusting back completely.

House was groaning at the incredible feeling he was experiencing. It was more than just physical pleasure. He was with Wilson, being fucked by him, something he'd dreamt about for years. It was more than just sex, though; this was the love of his life he was making love with and it was evoking emotional joy as well as physical gratification. House was not an emotional man but when he did allow himself to feel the emotions were strong and deep. There was no doubt in his mind that he adored Wilson. This was so much more incredible than his night with Cuddy after the crane disaster and her confession of love for him and at that time that had seemed wonderful. Perhaps it was because he was in love with Wilson, something he had never been with his ex-girlfriend.

Reaching towards the younger man, House caressed his face and ran his fingers through his hair which was a rich brown with signs of grey at the temples. He'd always loved the look and scent of Wilson's hair and had teased him about the way he styled it to hide his desire to reach out and bury his face in it, comb his fingers through it. Now he could do so whenever he desired.

Wilson leaned in and kissed House ardently. He began to increase the pace of his thrusts as both of them neared orgasm. House was pumping his own cock in time with the thrusts. Wilson instinctively angled his thrusts a little differently to see how his lover responded. Doing so caused his dick to hit House's prostate. That caused his breath to hitch followed by an appreciative moaning as his pleasure only intensified. A satisfied smile graced Wilson's lips.

"Is that better, Greg?" he whispered disjointedly, his own pleasure mounting with every thrust and with every thrust House pressed in rhythm toward him. "Does that feel _good_? Are you getting closer? Higher?"

"F-fuck yeah," House uttered, barely able to string a cogent thought together anymore but less talk coherently. "Oh g-god, Jimmy, faster! Ahhhh…More, oh god, m-more!"

Wilson obeyed, increasing the rate of his thrusts again. House could tell that his lover was getting close to climax. As for himself he didn't think he could last more than a couple more thrusts…The older man came hard, crying out unintelligibly as he went over. Hot, sticky cum ejaculated explosively, hitting his lover's chest and abdomen. Some of it ended up on him as well. A blinding white flash accompanied his orgasm and his brain lost all of its ability to reason and he floated in the overwhelming bliss. Wilson came two thrust later, moaning House's name. House felt him fill him up to overflowing with his cum and in the back of his mind somewhere he noted that his lover had collapsed like a rag doll on top of him, completely spent and overwhelmed by his own orgasm. Wilson softened and his penis slid out of House but neither man moved at all, basking in their endorphin rushes.

The oncologist seemed to recover quicker than the diagnostician and made to roll off of him but House wrapped his strong arms around Wilson, not allowing him to go. Wilson sighed contently and allowed himself to be held for a while longer. As the older man recovered, coming down from his high he rubbed circles along his lover's spine.

"Greg, I need to move," Wilson told him, trying to extricate himself. "My ribs—"

House opened his eyes at that and released his hold on him. "Are you…okay?"

Rolling off of him, Wilson positioned himself on his back next to the older man, their bodies still touching. "Yeah…just a little sore," he assured House with a warm smile. That amount of contact was not enough for House, who admittedly needed to hold Wilson close to him. He rolled over onto his left side, rested his head on Wilson's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his lover carefully, embracing him as if he was afraid that if he let go Wilson would disappear into thin air.

"Somebody likes to snuggle," Wilson murmured, smiling smugly, resting his left arm over House's in the closest thing to an embrace he could make at the moment, what with his casted right arm and taped ribs. "Who would have guessed that misanthropic, crusty, grumpy Gregory House likes to cuddle?"

"Shut up," House mumbled, smiling a little. "If you tell anyone I'll make you pay."

"Oooh, I'm scared," the oncologist chuckled, turning his head and placing a tender kiss on his lover's forehead. "This feels so _right_. Being with you like this is a hundred times better than I had imagined it would be."

"I know what you mean," House murmured, pressing a kiss to his partner's chest where it wasn't covered in tape. "We should have done this years ago."

"Mm hmm," Wilson agreed contentedly. "Does it feel a little strange to you for us to be lying here in each other's arms after remaining platonic for nearly twenty years?"

"A little," House admitted. "But it's a good strange."

"Yeah."

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I may not say this often enough to you in the future but…I love you."

Wilson's face lit up with a smile. "I know. I love you, too, Greg. So… when and how do you want us to reveal our relationship change to the people we work with?"

"Right away as soon as we get to work Monday morning," the diagnostician replied. "That is, if you're feeling up to returning to work by then."

"Right away it is," Wilson told him with a nod, easing House's anxiety over his willingness to be open about them. "I've got an idea…"

**~H/W~**

Monday morning Wilson had to drag his best friend out of bed to get ready for work. It was like pulling teeth but he found the right buttons to push when he invited House to join him in the shower and promised to make him macadamia nut pancakes for breakfast. Those were the two of the three surest ways to motivate House: sex and food; the third was curiosity.

As they drove in together in Wilson's car they confirmed their plan, not that it was all that intricate or difficult.

"I still think I should walk in self-satisfied," House complained from the driver's seat. "This way I look like a wuss."

Wilson shook his head and smirked derisively. "You spent months giving in to Cuddy, fretting over angering or upsetting her, altering the way you practiced medicine for her and even lied to her to get her to sleep with you and _now_ you're afraid of looking like a wuss? Greg, I hate to burst your bubble but you've been whipped since May."

House glowered at him warningly, "Shut up Wils—er, James."

"Thuhh-tchshh," the oncologist vocalized, imitating the sound of a whip snapping and pretending to crack said whip with his left hand.

"Yeah, like you were the one wearing the pants when you were still with Sam, or any of your other women for that matter," House volleyed sarcastically.

"I never changed a medical decision or began to dress differently to keep her from cutting me off," the younger man returned, smiling now.

"What would you be willing to do to keep me from cutting you off?" the diagnostician asked him, frowning irritably.

That only made Wilson laugh. "You would never do that—you like sex too much. I could make you break before the end of the day."

He heard the older man sigh and knew that that was the closest thing to a concession he would receive. That was alright. They both knew who had won this round. He looked over at House, his eyes tracing the profile of his face, the line of his jaw, the graying scruff that Wilson thought made him look incredibly sexy. A fond smile appeared on Wilson's face. He'd always loved the way the diagnostician dressed and groomed—or rather, didn't. It matched his devil may character, his non-conformity which was so attractive to Wilson's miserably conformist nature. He'd cringed inside watching the way Cuddy was manipulating his best friend into forsaking those things Wilson loved the most about him. Greg House was selfish, childish, scheming, and politically incorrect but he could also be quietly caring, compassionate, protective, courageous, brilliant, and bluntly honest about that which was important.

Seeing in his peripheral vision that his lover was staring at him, House asked self-consciously, "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

Shrugging Wilson replied, "I really _want_ you right now." His hand surreptitiously crossed the distance between them and slid onto his best friend's upper thigh, caressing towards his inseam.

House's breath caught in his throat. "You have a strange sense of timing," he murmured, staring lustfully at the younger man out of the corner of his eye.

Wilson's hand slid up towards House's cock and brushed over it teasingly. House hissed at the contact and he was rock hard almost right away. His breathing appeared to speed up.

"Don't start something you're unprepared to finish," the older man told him in a soft growl.

Pleased with the effect he was having on his lover, the oncologist's smile broadened. He moved to House's button on his jeans and undid it and slowly unzipped the fly, releasing the pressure on House's straining member. Wilson kept his eyes on House's face, which was flushing slightly, his eyes becoming more hooded. He felt his way through the opening in House's shorts and gently wrapped his hand around the hard, hot dick, causing an involuntary moan to escape from the older man. Wilson began to stroke it slowly, varying the pressure as he did.

"James, you're going to cause an accident," House said, his voice deep with desire. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

"Do you want me to stop?" the younger man asked him, his voice low and seductive. He was getting an erection just watching the look of lust and pleasure on his best friend's face. He enjoyed driving House crazy and watching him come undone. Wilson had discovered how to make him putty in his hands.

House didn't speak; he shook his head in response.

"You're a-a s-slut," House managed to spit out after a moment. "I love that about you."

Wilson gave him a throaty chuckle. "It's a good thing traffic is backed up. We won't die from a fender-bender. That feels sooo good, doesn't it Greg? The pressure is increasing; the pleasure is mounting with every stroke, hmm?"

"Oh fuck," House gasped, beginning to pant. "Yes, ohh, _yes_, j-just like _that_!" He began thrust his pelvis a little with every stroke and whimpered shamelessly every so often. "I am…_s-so_ fu-cking you into y-your desk later!" House gasped and then groaned in delight.

Wilson grinned, increasing the pace of his stroking, ticking the head of House's penis with a finger each time. The older man began to moan and whine, spitting out an expletive every so often. Wilson brought him to the very edge and then eased of, stroking slower and more lightly again. It was reducing House to a babbling fool.

"J-jesus, Jimmy!" the diagnostician begged in frustration, "umm I…I can't take it! P-please, qu-it teasing—Ahh!"

"Who's the best lover you've ever had?" the oncologist asked him softly.

"Mmm! Y-you are you mmmanipulative—ah!—_bitch_!"

Rewarding his answer, Wilson sped up again until his best friend came with a cry and swearing, shooting ropy strands of cum onto the steering column, into his jeans, and all over Wilson's hand. He could see House trying to keep himself conscious enough to continue driving; the younger man was prepared to grab the steering wheel with his sticky appendage if necessary. House managed to keep the car under control, but just barely. Wilson opened the glove compartment in front of him and pulled out a small packet of Kleenex. He struggled to clean his hand as well as possible without the use of his right hand before cleaning up House and his car. Reluctantly he dropped the soiled tissues onto the floor in the back with the intention of cleaning the car out better later.

When House could speak again, he looked contently over at Wilson. "I love you," he whispered without hesitation.

Wilson smiled smugly. "I know."

Once they arrived at the hospital House dropped Wilson off at a back employee exit then parked the car in his handicapped spot and entered PPTH through the main entrance. He put a scowl on his face and for the first time in his life hoped that he looked grumpy enough. He was still tingling from his orgasm and wanted to grin like a fool instead. Limping as quickly as he could through the main lobby House hoped Cuddy saw him and tried to catch him to order him into the clinic—not that he wanted to work there, but it was part of the plan. He wasn't disappointed when he heard the click of four-inch heels against the floor gaining ground on him. He got as far as the main desk before she caught him.

"You're in early," she said to him, frowning suspiciously. In her hand was a blue file.

"Well, I'm kind of at odds with my boss-slash-former girlfriend," the diagnostician answered, hoping it was loud enough to attract attention from the nurses behind the desk, "and I'd rather not piss her off anymore than she already is." Nurse Jeffrey handed House his messages looking at him in disdain before turning away.

"I thought you would have come sauntering in her with Wilson this morning," Cuddy commented, her voice strained. "Or didn't he come in today?"

House could see the hurt on her face and the effort she was making not to show it and to remain civil. He didn't like the fact that he had hurt her; he still cared about her, after all.

"You thought wrong," House told her, discarding the messages onto the desk, "and I don't know where the hell he is, nor do I care."

Cuddy frowned upon hearing him say that and shook her head in dismay, saying, "But I thought that you two—I mean, you two aren't together?"

House looked at her seriously. "Just like you he had no trouble dumping a sonofabitch like me." He looked at her meaningfully, hoping she understood what was going on. At first Cuddy looked at him confused; no one had actually dumped anyone. It simply had been an understanding of sorts. However, she seemed to catch on, and her face showed it. House gave her a hint of a smile, his blue eyes softly looking at her; they both understood that he was allowing people listening in to their conversation believe that she had dumped his ass, thus giving her the edge on saving face. Both he and Wilson considered it to be a tactical gambit.

"Thank you," she mouthed, her eyes misty. Cuddy handed him the file and cleared her throat, "New case. Male, thirty-seven years old with a low-grade fever, auditory hallucinations, swollen lymph nodes, alopecia, pustule-type rash all over his back and excreting blood from the pores on the soles of his feet."

House looked surprised, staring at the file. "Cool," he said with a smirk.

"And don't forget," the Dean of Medicine told him sternly, all business, "I expect to see you in the clinic this afternoon."

House shrugged, saying, "Sorry, can't—got a new case." He held up the file as if to remind her and then limped towards the elevator. He was about halfway there when he heard his name being shouted from the second floor mezzanine overlooking the lobby.

"Greg!" Wilson called out, standing at the rail and looking down at him. He looked like he'd run a marathon and appeared to be emotionally devastated. "Please! You have to give me a chance to explain!"

All eyes below were now riveted on the grief-stricken Head of Oncology. House rolled his eyes and sighed silently. _What a ham_, he thought.

"I don't want to hear it!" the diagnostician shouted back, feigning anger. "We're through!"

People began to whisper and stare. Cuddy looked amazed, and apparently speechless.

"But he didn't mean anything to me! It was a mistake!" Wilson told him dramatically.

"Which one," House demanded, "The busboy or the pit boss with that sexy mustache of his? They couldn't all be mistakes!" House and Wilson were making this up as they went along. The younger doctor hadn't expected this last embellishment and was thrown off momentarily. He blinked a couple of times before throwing himself back into character.

"Both of them!" Wilson replied. "It caught me by surprise and what, with the booze and the karaoke and then the brawl on top of it all—"

"I was the only one who was surprised when I walked into our hotel room and discovered your disgusting _ménage a trois_!" House told him, switching from angry to heartbroken and trying desperately not to burst out laughing at how ridiculously melodramatic they were. "And the worst part was that you didn't even invite me to join in!"

"House!" Cuddy hissed from behind him. "What the hell is this-?"

For a fraction of a second Wilson gave his lover a glare that said, 'Quit screwing around!' but quickly recovered. "There was nothing to join. Please, Greg, just give me a chance to explain! I love you!"

There was a generalized gasp came from the growing crowd of onlookers. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Taub and Foreman staring at the proceedings. The short doctor looked surprised and slightly nauseated. Foreman looked to be suspicious of the entire thing—and a little amused as well.

"You should have thought of that before you dropped your pants!"

"House!" Cuddy said angrily. "Wilson! Stop this now!"

"Please!" Wilson begged, ignoring her. "Just five minutes."

Sighing heavily, the older man appeared to hesitate, weighing the pros and cons.

"Hey, Doc," Nurse Jeffrey said from behind him. House turned around, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" he snapped.

"Come on," Jeffrey said with a smirk and a wink, "You two have been dancing around each other for years. Don't let that gorgeous piece of man-flesh get away now. Give him a chance to explain."

"Yes," Foreman said from across the lobby, folding his arms in front of him and smirking with that expression of his that said that he was on to them. "Don't stand in the way of true love."

House glared at the neurologist, annoyed. This was getting crazy—time for the finale. He looked back at Wilson who was giving him his sad puppy dog eyes. He couldn't resist those eyes.

"Alright," House told him grudgingly. "Get down here!"

At that Wilson ran into the waiting elevator (a janitor was holding the door open for him, smiling encouragingly).

Cuddy walked up beside the diagnostician, infuriated. "House, this is too much!" she told him angrily. "This is a hospital, not a theater! Cut the act!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," House told her impudently, enjoying the way her nostrils were flaring. He knew that both he and Wilson were facing a truckload of extra clinic hours for this but he didn't care; this was too much fun.

The elevator arrived and Wilson stepped off of it, striding towards his lover. When he reached him he grabbed the older man's hands and said, "I know it looked bad, but if you'll recall, I wasn't undressed—_they_ were. They were screaming in the corridor outside our room. When I opened the door to see what was going on they pushed their way into our room and continued fighting. I was trying to kick them out when you walked in. I swear to you that's all that happened! I wasn't looking for anyone else. I only want you!"

Scowling at the younger man House asked, "Really? You swear that's all that was happening?"

"I swear!" the oncologist told him. "I love you Greg. It's taken us almost twenty years to admit to ourselves how much we mean to each other. I wouldn't throw that away for anything."

House could hold back his grin any longer. "Okay. I believe you." He winked at Wilson who was already chortling a little and pulled him into a deep, passionate, tongue-wrestling kiss. Wilson's good hand went behind House's head, holding him steady while House's right arm enveloped Wilson's waist and his left hand slid to cup and squeeze an ass cheek. There was the sound of 'Ooos' and 'awws' from around the lobby and the smattering of applause. He heard a few 'boos' as well.

Their lips parted and they rested their foreheads together, grinning conspiratorially.

"You're a rotten actor," House told him in a whisper.

Grinning, the younger man replied quietly, "Yes, but I'm also the best lover you've ever had."

House chuckled at that but stopped when he felt a long-nailed hand squeeze his forearm tightly. The yelp Wilson released suggested he did as well. Cuddy stood between the two of them, her grey eyes flaring, her lips pressed hard together.

"Both of you," she growled through gritted teeth. "In my office, _now_!" She literally pushed them ahead of her in that direction.

"See, that's the problem, Cuddy," House told her snottily. "You just don't appreciate true romance!"

Looking sideways at him incredulously Wilson said, "Greg—shut up. And meet in my office at one—for _lunch_."

"I'll bring dessert," House told him with a wink and a grin.

_**~fin~**_

**A/N 2: I hope there weren't too many errors in this. I was interrupted every five minutes by my kids while finishing it so I probably missed a lot of them. Sorry too that this took so long. Real life has been stupid lately and very hectic with Christmas coming! For those waiting on the next update of my other story, **_**Resurrection**_**, I've just got to finish proofreading it and then I'll post it right away. Also, I wrote Wilson as being a bit of a bad boy here because we all know he's got that devious side to him that House brings out so well!**


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